READINGS  FROM 
AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

r 

CALHOUN  AND  M^cALARNEY 


GIFT   OF 
Publisher 


READINGS  FROM 
AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

A  TEXTBOOK 
FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES 

BY 

MARY  EDWARDS  CALHOUN 

AND 

EMMA  LENORE  MAcALARNEY 


GINN  AND  COMPANY 

BOSTON     •     NEW   YORK     •     CHICAGO     •     LONDON 
ATLANTA     •     DALLAS     •    COLUMBUS     •     SAN    FRANCISC® 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
MARY  EDWARDS  CALHOUN  AND  EMMA  LENORE  MAcALARNEY 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 
322.8 


Publisher 

EDUCATION  DEPT. 


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GINN  AND  COMPANY  •  PRO 
PRIETORS  •  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

That  this  volume  of  "  Readings  from  American  Literature  " 
was  made  because  of  a  real  need  is,  perhaps,  its  first  and  best 
excuse  for  being.  The  editors  found  in  their  own  classrooms 
the  demand  for  a  compact  anthology,  ranging  in  time  from 
colonial  days  to  the  present  and  adapted  to  the  high-school 
student  and  the  college  undergraduate.  Because  of  this  they  have 
essayed  a  task,  not  simple  in  itself,  but  simplified  to  a  degree,  in 
their  case,  by  experience  in  teaching  the  material  presented  here. 

It  is  happily  a  fact  that  to-day  we  are  not  neglectful  in  the 
school  curriculum  of  a  historical  survey  of  American  literature. 
Better  still,  we  link  such  study  with  history  proper  in  a  natural 
correlation  that  vitalizes  both.  But  to  read  about  an  author  is  not 
enough  ;  we  must  read  his  works  —  all  of  which  is  trite,  but  so 
true  that  it  may  be  said  safely  many  times.  Not  all  schools  are 
so  fortunate  as  to  have  adequate  and  extensive  reference  shelves. 
Nor  do  home  and  town  libraries  meet  all  requirements.  Few 
collections,  however  well  selected,  supply  much  material  prior  to 
Irving.  And  even  when  reference  reading  is  practicable,  the  de 
sirability  of  a  text  for  classroom  study  is  still  obvious.  With  this 
by  way  of  explanation,  not  apology,  the  editors  are  content. 

Thanks  are  gratefully  extended  to  all  who  have  helped  to  make 
the  book  —  to  the  boys  and  girls  whose  frank  expressions  of  inter 
est  or  boredom  have  shown  us  what  appeals  to  younger  readers ; 
to  the  fellow  teachers  who  have  advised  from  their  experience ; 
to  the  publishers  who  have  made  adequate  selection  possible.  If 
there  are  any  lingering  regrets,  and  what  compiler  ever  saw  in  his 
book  a  true  compendium  of  his  desires,  it  is  that  the  number  of 
selections  could  not  be  more  generous.  We  are  sorry  not  to  be 
able  to  include  any  of  Mark  Twain,  and  we  wish  that  our  excerpts 


56^50 


iv  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

from  Bret  Harte  and  from  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  were  not  so 
few  in  number.    The  book,  however,  is  fairly  comprehensive. 

Especially  do  we  acknowledge  our  indebtedness  to  many  pub 
lishers  for  permission  to  use  material  still  in  copyright  —  to 
Houghton  Mifflin  Company  for  selections  from  the  early  New  Eng 
land  poets  and  from  Harte,  Aldrich,  Sill,  Warner,  and  Stedman ; 
to  Charles  Scribner's  Sons  for  Sidney  Lanier  and  Eugene  Field;  to 
the  B.  F.  Johnson  Publishing  Co.  for  Henry  Timrod  ;  to  Lothrop, 
Lee  &  Shepard  Co.  for  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne ;  to  Mr.  Horace 
Traubel  for  Walt  Whitman  ;  to  the  Whitaker  &  Ray-Wiggin  Co. 
for  Joaquin  Miller;  to  Little,  Brown,  and  Company  for  Emily 
Dickinson ;  and  to  The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company  for  James 

Whitcomb  Riley. 

MARY  E.  CALHOUN 
EMMA  L.  MAcALARNEY 


CONTENTS 


COLONIAL  PERIOD 

CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH  PAGE 

A  True  Relation  of  Such  Occurrences  and  Accidents  of  Note  as  hath 

happened  in  Virginia  etc I 

Powhatan's  Reception  of  Smith I 

General  History  of  Virginia .-      3 

The  Pocahontas  Story 3 

The  Capture  of  Pocahontas 5 

WILLIAM  BRADFORD 

The  History  "  Of  Plymouth  Plantation  " 8 

The  Pilgrims  leave  Leyden 8 

The  Compact  of  the  Pilgrims 1 1 

Early  Trials  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 12 

Christmas  Pastimes 14 

MOURT'S  RELATION 

Youthful  Exuberance  on  the  "  Mayflower  " 15 

Exploring  Cape  Cod 15 

The  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims 16 

Indian  Courtesies 17 

JOHN  WINTHROP 

History  of  New  England 18 

An  Election  in  the  Colonial  Times 18 

Items  covering  Period  from  1631-1648 19 

Letters  of  John  Winthrop  and  his  Third  Wife,  Margaret       23 

JOHN  COTTON 

A  Defense  of  Persecution 25 

Poem  on  the  Reverend  Thomas  Hooker 27 

v 


vi  READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

NATHANIEL  WARD 

The  Simple  Cobbler  of  Aggawam  in  America 28 

Women's  Fashions 28 

In  Praise  of  Anne  Bradstreet 33 

ANNE  BRADSTREET 

The  Tenth  Muse  Lately  Sprung  up  in  America 33 

The  Prologue 33 

Of  the  Four  Ages  of  Man 35 

A  Love-Letter  to  her  Husband 36 

The  Author  to  her  Book 38 

For  the  Restoration  of  my  Dear  Husband  from  a  Burning  Ague,  June, 

1661 38 

EDWARD  JOHNSON 

Wonder-Working  Providence 39 

Of  the  First  Preparation  of  the  Merchant  Adventurers  in  the  Massa 
chusetts    39 

Of  the  First  Promotion  of  Learning  in  New  England 40 

JOHN  ELIOT 

A  Late  and  Further  Manifestation  of  the  Progress  of  the  Gospel  among  the 

Indians  in  New  England 44 

Scandal  among  the  Converts 44 

MICHAEL  WIGGLESWORTH 

The  Day  of  Doom      47 

Introduction  :  To  the  Christian  Reader 47 

THE  BURWELL  PAPERS 

History  of  Bacon  and  Ingram's  Rebellion 51 

Bacon's  Death 51 

Bacon's  Epitaph,  made  by  his  Man 52 

Lovewell's  Fight :  A  Popular  Ballad 53 

MARY  ROWLANDSON 

Narrative  of  the  Captivity  and  Restouration  of  Mrs.  Mary  Roulandson    .    .  56 

Attack  by  Indians 5^ 

Her  Experiences  in  Captivity      , 57 


CONTENTS  vii 

COTTON  MATHER  PAGE 

The  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World 59 

The  Origin  of  Witchcraft  in  New  England 59 

Some  of  the  Evidence  given  at  the  Witch  Trials 61 

SAMUEL  SEWALL 

Diary 66 

Discipline  at  Harvard 66 

Christmas  Day  in  Boston 67 

Notes  on  the  Witchcraft  Trials 67 

Family  Discipline 68 

Reflections  on  Slavery 68 

A  Colonial  Wedding 68 

A  Chief  Justice  in  Search  of  a  Wife 69 

ROBERT  BEVERLY 

History  and  Present  State  of  Virginia 74 

Inhabitants  of  Virginia 74 

Pastimes  in  Virginia 76 

Servants  and  Slaves  in  Virginia 78 

WILLIAM  BYRD 

The  History  of  the  Dividing  Line 79 

North  Carolina  Farming 79 

Runaway  Slaves  in  Hiding 80 

Conviviality  in  the  Colonies 81 

A  Journey  to  the  Land  of  Eden 81 

Dentistry  in  Primitive  Days 81 

JONATHAN  EDWARDS 

Resolutions  formed  in  Early  Life  (Extracts) 83 

Extracts  from  Edwards's  Diary 83 

Sarah  Pierrepont,  afterward  his  Wife 84 

A  Farewell  Sermon  at  Northampton,  1750  (Extracts) 85 

THE  NEW  ENGLAND  PRIMER 

Alphabets  of  1727  and  1762 88 

The  Dutiful  Child's  Promises 90 

Verses 90 

Good  Children  Must 91 

Learn  These  Four  Lines  by  Heart ,  91 

The  Infant's  Grace  before  and  after  Meat      .    < 91 

Additional  Alphabet  Verses 91 


viii          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

PAGE 

THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

The  Almanacs 92 

The  Way  to  Wealth 93 

The  Autobiography  (Extracts) 100 

His  Early  Interest  in  Books 100 

Seeking  his  Fortune 104 

THOMAS  GODFREY 

The  Wish 1 10 

Amyntor 1 1 1 

NATHANIEL  EVANS 

Poems  on  Several  Occasions 112 

To  May 112 

Ode  to  my  Ingenious  Friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Godfrey 114 

JOHN  WOOLMAN 

Journal 115 

Chief  Events  during  the  Years  1749  to  1753 115 

SAMUEL  ADAMS 

On  American  Independence  —  in  Philadelphia,  August  i,  1776  (Extract)     .     118 

JAMES  OTIS 

On  the  Writs  of  Assistance  —  Before  the  Superior  Court  of  Massachusetts, 
February,  1761  (Extract) 119 

PATRICK  HENRY 

Speech  in  the  Convention  of  Delegates,  March  28,  1775  (Extracts)  ....     120 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

Speech  in  Congress  on  his  being  made  Commander-in-Chief,  June  16,  1775     123 
Letter  to  his  Wife  upon  being  made  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army    .    .     124 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON 

Inaugural  Address,    as    President   of  the   United    States,   March  4,    1801 

(Extract) 125 

Autobiography 127 

An  Anecdote  of  Dr.  Franklin 127 

A  Tribute  to  France    .  128 


CONTENTS  ix 

ALEXANDER  HAMILTON  PAGE 

On  the  Expediency  of  Adopting  the  Federal  Constitution—  Convention 

of  New  York,*June  24,  1788  (Extracts)  ..............  I29 

THOMAS  PAINE 

Common  Sense  .......................  r.,o 

On  the  Separation  of  Britain  and  America  ...........  !-7O 

Rights  of  Man     ........................  T^2 

The  Foppery  of  Titles  ...................  l^2 

Liberty  Tree  .........................  l^. 

PHILIP  FRENEAU 


The  Pictures  of  Columbus 

Columbus  addresses  King  Ferdinand 

Columbus  in  Chains 
The  House  of  Night 

Death's  Epitaph 

The  Indian  Burying-Ground  .... 
The  Wild  Honeysuckle 
To  a  Honey  Bee 


JOHN  TRUMBULL 

McFingal.    A  Modern  Epic  Poem 
Converting  a  Tory 


TIMOTHY  DWIGHT 

Columbia     .....................    .....     146 

JOEL  BARLOW 

The  Hasty  Pudding    ......................     I47 

Canto   I  .......................  j  .» 

ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER 

Days  of  my  Youth  .......................     j.2 

OCCASIONAL  POEMS  OF  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD 

The  Battle  of  the  Kegs  (Francis  Hopkinson)     ...........    .     JM 

The  Ballad  of  Nathan  Hale    ..................    .     I56 

Battle  of  Trenton 


x  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ROYALL  TYLER  *AGE 

The  Contrast,  a  Comedy  in  Five  Acts 1 59 

From  the  "Advertisement " 159 

Prologue,  in  Rebuke  of  the  Prevailing  Anglomania 160 

Act  I,  Scene  I 161 

CHARLES  BROCKDEN  BROWN 

Wieland;  or  the  Transformation 167 

Wieland's  Defence 167 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE 

The  Culprit  Fay 177 

The  Fay's  Sentence 177 

The  Second  Quest 179 

The  American  Flag 180 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK 

On  the  Death  of  Joseph  Rodman  Drake 182 

Marco  Bozzaris 183 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

A  History  of  New  York,  by  Diedrich  Knickerbocker 186 

Governor  Wouter  Van  Twiller 186 

The  Sketch  Book 190 

The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow 190 

The  Alhambra 219 

Interior  of  the  Alhambra 219 

JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER 

The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 225 

Chap.  XXIII 225 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT 

Thanatopsis , 239 

To  a  Waterfowl 241 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian 242 

The  Death  of  the  Flowers 243 

O  Fairest  of  the  Rural  Maids 244 

Song  of  Marion's  Men , 245 


CONTENTS  xi 


The  Yellow  Violet 247 

The  Death  of  Lincoln    .    .    .    .    '. 248 

Robert  of  Lincoln 248 

The  Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree 251 

The  May  Sun  Sheds  an  Amber  Light 253 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

The  Raven 254 

Annabel  Lee 258 

The  Haunted  Palace 259 

The  Bells 260 

To  Helen 264 

To  One  in  Paradise 264 

Israfel 265 

The  Coliseum 267 

The  Conqueror  Worm 268 

The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 269 


THE  LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

DANIEL  WEBSTER 

The  Bunker  Hill  Address  (Extracts) .     276 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

The  Gettysburg  Speech 291 

The  Second  Inaugural  Address 292 

WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 

The  Conquest  of  Mexico  (Extracts) 294 

Vol.  II,  Book  V,  Chap.  II 294 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY 

The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic 301 

Vol.  I,  Chap.  I,  Par.  1-15 301 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  Jesuits  in  North  America  in  the  Seventeenth  Century 312 

Vol.  I,  Chap.  XVI  (Extract) 312 


xii  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  PAGE 

Concord  Hymn 316 

The  Rhodora ' 316 

The  Humble-bee 317 

Good-bye 319 

Each  and  All 320 

The  Snow-storm 321 

April 322 

Forbearance 323 

Fable 323 

The  Enchanter 324 

Woodnotes 324 

Selections 324 

Voluntaries 327 

Self-reliance 328 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

Twice-Told  Tales 352 

The  Gray  Champion 352 

A  Rill  from  the  Town-Pump 360 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW 

A  Psalm  of  Life      366 

The  Light  of  Stars 367 

Footsteps  of  Angels 368 

Hymn  to  the  Night 370 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor .    . 371 

The  Rainy  Day 376 

Endymion 376 

Maidenhood 377 

Serenade  from  "  The  Spanish  Student" .  379 

Sleep 380 

Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn 380 

The  Birds  of  Killingworth 380 

King  Robert  of  Sicily 388 

Evangeline.    Selections       394 

The  Song  of  Hiawatha 420 

Introduction 420 

Hiawatha's  Childhood 423 

The  Famine : 430 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

Proem  to  the  First  Edition  of  his  Collected  Works 435 

The  Farewell  of  a  Virginia  Slave  Mother 436 


CONTENTS  xiii 


Ichabod 438 

Skipper  Ireson's  Ride 439 

The  Barefoot  Boy 442 

Telling  the  Bees 445 

In  School-Days 447 

The  Eternal  Goodness 449 

Laus  Deo !       452 

My  Triumph 454 

My  Playmate 456 

Snow-bound.    A  Winter  Idyl 458 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

Old  Ironsides 480 

The  Last  Leaf 481 

The  Boys 482 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece,  or  The  Wonderful  "  One-Hoss  Shay  "   .     .    .    .  484 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 488 

A  Sun-Day  Hymn 489 

The  Voiceless 490 

The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table 490 

Chap.  II 490 

HENRY  THOREAU 

Walden 507 

Solitude 507 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

My  Love 515 

She  Came  and  Went 517 

To  the  Dandelion 517 

The  First  Snow-Fall 519 

Aladdin 520 

Longing 521 

Sonnet 522 

The  Biglow  Papers 523 

What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks 523 

The  Courtin' 525 

The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 528 

The  Commemoration  Ode  (July  21,  1,865) 539 

Abraham  Lincoln.    An  Essay 551 

WALT  WHITMAN 

I  Hear  America  Singing 573 

By  the  Bivouac's  Fitful  Flame 574 


xiv          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

PAG* 

O  Captain !  My  Captain  ! 574 

A  Sight  in  Camp  in  the  Day-break  Grey  and  Dim 575 

A  Noiseless,  Patient  Spider 576 

Hush'd  be  the  Camps  To-Day .  576 

To  the  Man-of-War-Bird 577 

Come  up  from  the  Fields,  Father 577 

Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul 579 

When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Door-Yard  Bloom'd 580 

Selections 580 

SIDNEY  LANIER 

Song  of  the  Chattahoochee 584 

A  Ballad  of  Trees  and  the  Master 586 

The  Marshes  of  Glynn 586 


THE  LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS 

BAYARD  TAYLOR 

Bedouin  Song 591 

The  Song  of  the  Camp 592 

The  National  Ode,  July  4,  1876 '. 593 

America 593 

HENRY  TIMROD 

Spring 595 

At  Magnolia  Cemetery 597 

PAUL  HAMILTON  HAYNE 

Aspects  of  the  Pines 598 

A  Little  While  I  Fain  Would  Linger  Yet 599 

A  Storm  in  the  Distance 600 

FRANCIS  BRET  HARTE 

Grizzly 601 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

When  the  Sultan  Goes  to  Ispahan 602 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 

Camping  Out 603 


CONTENTS  xv 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN  PAGE 

Pan  in  Wall  Street 614 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

The  Fool's  Prayer 617 

JOAQUIN  MILLER 

Crossing  the  Plains 618 

By  the  Pacific  Ocean 619 

Columbus 619 

EMILY  DICKINSON 

The  Humming-Bird 621 

Out  of  the  Morning 621 

Chartless 622 

The  Robin 622 

In  the  Garden 622 

Autumn 623 

If  I  Can  Stop  One  Heart  from  Breaking 624 

EUGENE  FIELD 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod 624 

Little  Boy  Blue 626 

In  the  Firelight 626 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 

When  She  Comes  Home 627 

The  Raggedy  Man 628 

The  Days  Gone  By 629 

INDEX 631 


READINGS  FROM 
AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

COLONIAL  PERIOD 
CAPTAIN  JOHN  SMITH 

[Born  at  Willoughby,  Lincolnshire,  England,  January,  1579;  died  at 
London,  June  21,  1631] 

POWHATAN'S  RECEPTION  OF  SMITH 
FROM  "A  TRUE  RELATION  OF  SUCH  OCCURRENCES  AND  ACCIDENTS  OF 

NOTE  AS   HATH   HAPPENED  IN  VIRGINIA  ETC."     LONDON,  1 608 

Arriving  at  Weramocomoco  their  Emperor  proudly  lying  upon 
a  bedstead  a  foot  high,  upon  ten  or  twelve  mats  richly  hung  with 
many  chains  of  great  pearls  about  his  neck,  and  covered  with  a 
great  covering  of  Rahaughcums.  At  his  head  sat  a  woman,  at  his 
feet  another ;  on  each  side  sitting  upon  a  mat  upon  the  ground, 
were  ranged  his  chief  men  on  each  side  the  fire,  ten  in  a  rank 
and  behind  them  as  many  young  women,  each  a  great  chain  of 
white  beads  over  their  shoulders,  their  heads  painted  in  red  ;  and 
with  such  a  grave  and  majestical  countenance,  as  drave  me  into 
admiration  to  see  such  state  in  a  naked  salvage. 

He  kindly  welcomed  me  with  good  words,  and  great  platters'  of 

sundry  victuals,  assuring  me  his  friendship,  and  my  liberty  within 

four  days.    He  much  delighted  in  Opechan  Comough's  relation  of 

what  I  had  described  to  him,  and  oft  examined  me  upon  the  same. 

.He  asked  me  the  cause  of  our  coming. 

I  told  him  being  in  fight  with  the  Spaniards,  our  enemy,  being 
overpowered-,  near  put  to  retreat,  and  by  extreme  weather  put  to 


2  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

this  shore,  where  landing  at  Chesipiack,  the  people  shot  us,  but  at 
Kequoughtan  they  kindly  used  us ;  we  by  signs  demanded  fresh 
water,  they  described  us  up  the  river  was  all  fresh  water :  at  Pas- 
pahegh  also  they  kindly  used  us  :  our  pinnace  being  leaky,  we 
were  enforced  to  stay  to  mend  her,  till  Captain  Newport,  my 
father,  came  to  conduct  us  away. 

He  demanded  why  we  went  further  with  our  boat.  I  told  him, 
in  that  I  would  have  occasion  to  talk  of  the  back  sea,  that  on  the 
other  side  the  main  where  was  salt  water.  My  father  had  a  child 
slain  which  we  supposed  Monocan,  his  enemy  had  done ;  whose 
death  we  intended  to  revenge. 

After  good  deliberation,  he  began  to  describe  me  the  countries 
beyond  the  falls,  with  many  of  the  rest ;  confirming  what  not 
only  Opechancanoyes,  and  an  Indian  which  had  been  prisoner  to 
Pewhatan  had  before  told  me  :  but  some  one  called  it  five  days, 
some  six,  some  eight,  where  the  said  water  dashed  amongst  many 
stones  and  rocks,  each  storm ;  which  caused  oft  times  the  head 
of  the  river  to  be  brackish. 

Anchanachuck  he  described  to  be  the  people  that  had  slain  my 
brother  :  whose  death  he  would  revenge.  He  described  also  upon 
the  same  sea,  a  mighty  nation  called  Pocoughtronack,  a  fierce 
nation  that  did  eat  men,  and  warred  with  the  people  of  Moyaoncer 
and  Pataromerke,  nations  upon  the  top  of  the  head  of  the  Bay, 
under  his  territories  :  where  the  year  before  they  had  slain  an  hun 
dred.  He  signified  their  crowns  were  shaven,  long  hair  in  the 
neck,  tied  on  a  knot,  swords  like  pollaxes. 

Beyond  them,  he  described  people  with  short  coats,  and  sleeves 
to  the  elbows,  that  passed  that  way  in  ships  like  ours.  Many  king 
doms  he  described  me,  to  the  head  of  the  bay,  which  seemed  to 
be  a  mighty  river  issuing  from  mighty  mountains  betwixt  the  two 
seas :  The  people  clothed  at  Ocamahowan,  he  also  confirmed.  And 
the  southerly  countries  also,  as  the  rest  that  reported  us  to  be  within 
a  day  and  a  half  of  Mangoge,  two  days  of  Chawwonock,  six  from 
Roonock,  to  the  south  part  of  the  back  sea.  He  described  a  coun 
try  called  Anone,  where  they  have  abundance  of  brass,  and  houses 
walled  as  ours. 

I  requited  his  discourse  (seeing  what  pride  he  had  in  his  great 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  3 

and  spacious  dominions,  seeing  that  all  he  knew  were  under  his 
territories)  in  describing  to  him  the  territories  of  Europe,  which 
was  subject  to  our  great  king  whose  subject  I  was,  the  innumer 
able  multitude  of  his  ships,  I  gave  him  to  understand  the  noise  of 
trumpets,  and  terrible  manner  of  fighting  [which]  were  under  Cap 
tain  Newport  my  father :  whom  I  intituled  the  Meworames,  which 
they  call  the  King  of  all  the  waters.  At  his  greatness  he  admired : 
and  not  a  little  feared.  He  desired  me  to  forsake  Paspahegh,  and 
to  live  with  him  upon  his  river,  a  country  called  Capa  Howasicke. 
He  promised  to  give  me  corn,  venison,  or  what  I  wanted  to  feed 
us  :  Hatchets  and  copper  we  should  make  him,  and  none  should 
disturb  us. 


THE  POCAHONTAS  STORY 
FROM  THE  "GENERAL  HISTORY  OF  VIRGINIA,"  ETC.  (1624),  LIB.  Ill 

Opitchapam  the  King's  brother  invited  him  to  his  house,  where, 
with  as  many  platters  of  bread,  fowl,  and  wild  beasts,  as  did  en 
viron  him,  he  bid  him  welcome ;  but  not  any  of  them  would  eat 
a  bit  with  him,  but  put  up  all  the  remainder  in  baskets. 

At  his  returne  to  Opechancanough's  all  the  King's  women 
and  their  children,  flocked  about  him  for  their  parts,  as  a  due  by 
custom,  to  be  merry  with  such  fragments. 

But  his  waking  mind  in  hideous  dreams  did  oft  see  wondrous  shapes 
Of  bodies  strange  and  huge  in  growth,  and  of  stupendous  makes. 

At  last  they  brought  him  to  Werowocomoco,  where  was  Pow- 
hatan  their  Emperor.  Here  more  than  two  hundred  of  those  grim 
courtiers  stood  wondering  at  him,  as  he  had  been  a  monster ;  till 
Powhatan  and  his  train  had  put  themselves  in  their  greatest  brav 
eries.  Before  a  fire  upon  a  seat  like  a  bedstead,  he  sat  covered  with 
a  great  robe,  made  of  raccoon  skins,  and  all  the  tails  hanging  by. 
On  either  hand  did  sit  a  young  wench  of  1 6  or  1 8  years,  and  along 
on  each  side  the  house,  two  rows  of  men,  and  behind  them  as  many 
women,  with  all  their  heads  and  shoulders  painted  red ;  many  of 
their  heads  bedecked  with  the  white  down  of  biros ;  but  every  one 
with  something :  and  a  great  chain  of  white  beads  about  their  necks. 


4  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

At  his  entrance  before  the  King,  all  the  people  gave  a  great 
shout.  The  Queen  of  Appamatuck  was  appointed  to  bring  him 
water  to  wash  his  hands,  and  another  brought  him  a  bunch  of 
feathers,  instead  of  a  towel  to  dry  them.  Having  feasted  him  after 
their  best  barbarous  manner  they  could,  a  long  consultation  was 
held,  but  the  conclusion  was,  two  great  stones  were  brought  before 
Powhatan  :  then  as  many  as  could  laid  hands  on .  him,  dragged 
him  to  them,  and  thereon  laid  his  head,  and  being  ready  with 
their  clubs,  to  beat  out  his  brains,  Pocahontas  the  King's  dearest 
daughter,  when  no  entreaty  could  prevail,  got  his  head  in  her  arms, 
and  laid  her  own  upon  his  to  save  his  from  death  :  whereat  the 
Emperor  was  contented  he  should  live  to  make  him  hatchets,  and 
her  bells,  beads,  and  copper ;  for  they  thought  him  as  well  of  all 
occupations  as  themselves.  For  the  King  himself  will  make  his 
own  robes,  shoes,  bows,  arrows,  pots ;  plant,  hunt,  or  do  any  thing 
so  well  as  the  rest. 

They  say  he  bore  a  pleasant  show, 
But  sure  his  heart  was  sad. 
For  who  can  pleasant  be,  and  rest, 
That  lives  in  fear  and  dread : 
And  having  life  suspected,  doth 
It  still  suspected  lead. 

Two  days  after,  Powhatan  having  disguised  himself  in  the  most 
fearfulest  manner  he  could,  caused  Captain  Smith  to  be  brought 
forth  to  a  great  house  in  the  woods,  and  there  upon  a  mat  by  the 
fire  to  be  left  alone.  Not  long  after  from  behind  a  mat  that  divided 
the  house,  was  made  the  most  dolefulest  noise  he  ever  heard  :  then 
Powhatan  more  like  a  devil  than  a  man,  with  some  two  hundred 
more  as  black  as  himself,  came  unto  him  and  told  him  now  they 
were  friends,  and  presently  he  should  go  to  Jamestown,  to  send 
him  two  great  guns,  and  a  grindstone,  for  which  he  would  give 
him  the  County  of  Capahowosick,  and  for  ever  esteem  him  as  his 
son  Nantaquoud. 

So  to  Jamestown  with  1 2  guides  Powhatan  sent  him.  That  night 
they  quartered  in  the  woods,  he  still  expecting  (as  he  had  done  all 
this  long  time  of  his  imprisonment)  every  hour  to  be  put  to  one 
death  or  other  for  all  their  feasting.  But  almighty  God  by  his 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  5 

divine  providence,  had  mollified  the  hearts  of  those  stern  barba 
rians  with  compassion.  The  next  morning  betimes  they  came  to 
the  fort,  where  Smith  having  used  the  savages  with  what  kindness 
he  could,  he  showed  Rawhunt,  Powhatan's  trusty  servant,  two  demi- 
culverins  and  a  millstone  to  carry  Powhatan  :  they  found  them 
somewhat  too  heavy ;  but  when  they  did  see  him  discharge  them, 
being  loaded  with  stones,  among  the  boughs  of  a  great  tree  loaded 
with  icicles,  the  ice  and  branches  came  so  tumbling  down,  that  the 
poor  savages  ran  away  half  dead  with  fear.  But  at  last  we  regained 
some  confidence  with  them,  and  gave  them  such  toys  :  and  sent  to 
Powhatan  his  women,  and  children  such  presents,  as  gave  them  in 
general  full  content. 

THE   CAPTURE  OF  POCAHONTAS 
FROM  LIB.  IV 

But  to  conclude  our  peace,  thus  it  happened.  Captain  Argall 
having  entered  into  a  great  acquaintance  with  Japazaws,  an  old 
friend  of  Captain  Smith's,  and  so  to  all  our  nation,  ever  since  he 
discovered  the  Country  :  hard  by  him  there  was  Pocahontas,  whom 
Captain  Smith's  Relations  intituleth  the  Numparell  of  Virginia,  and 
though  she  had  been  many  times  a  preserver  of  him  and  the  whole 
colony,  yet  till  this  accident  she  was  never  seen  at  Jamestown 
since  his  departure. 

Being  at  Patawomeke,  as  it  seems,  thinking  her  self  unknown, 
was  easily  by  her  friend  Japazaws  persuaded  to  go  abroad  with  him 
and  his  wife  to  see  the  ship,  for  Captaine  Argall  had  promised 
him  a  copper  kettle  to  bring  her  but  to  him,  promising  no  way  to 
hurt  her,  but  keep  her  till  they  could  conclude  a  peace  with  her 
father.  The  savage  for  this  copper  kettle  would  have  done  any 
thing,  it  seemed  by  the  Relation. 

For  though  she  had  seen  and  been  in  many  ships,  yet  he  caused 
his  wife  to  fain  how  desirous  she  was  to  see  one,  and  that  he  offered 
to  beat  her  for  her  importunity,  till  she  wept.  But  at  last  he  told 
her,  if  Pocahontas  would  go  with  her,  he  was  content :  and  thus 
they  betrayed  the  poor  innocent  Pocahontas  aboard,  where  they 
were  all  kindly  feasted  in  the  cabin.  Japazaws  treading  oft  on  the 


6  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Captain's  foot,  to  remember  he  had  done  his  part,  the  Captain  when 
he  saw  his  time,  persuaded  Pocahontas  to  the  gun-room,  faining 
to  have  some  conference  with  Japazaws,  which  was  only  that  she 
should  not  perceive  he  was  any  way  guilty  of  her  captivity :  so 
sending  for  her  again,  he  told  her  before  her  friends,  she  must  go 
with  him,  and  compound  peace  betwixt  her  country  and  us,  before 
she  ever  should  see  Powhatan,  whereat  the  old  Jew  and  his  wife 
began  to  howl  and  cry  as  fast  as  Pocahontas,  that  upon  the  Captain's 
fair  persuasions,  by  degrees  pacifying  her  self,  and  Japazaws  and 
his  wife,  with  the  kettle  and  other  toys,  went  merrily  on  shore, 
and  she  to  Jamestown. 

A  messenger  forthwith  was  sent  to  her  father,  that  his  daughter 
Pocahontas  he  loved  so  dearly,  he  must  ransom  with  our  men, 
swords,  pieces,  tools,  &c.,  he  treacherously  had  stolen. 

This  unwelcome  news  much  troubled  Powhatan,  because  he 
loved  both  his  daughter  and  our  commodities  well,  yet  it  was 
three  months  after  ere  he  returned  us  any  answer :  then  by  the 
persuasion  of  the  Council,  he  returned  seven  of  our  men,  with  each 
of  them  an  unserviceable  musket,  and  sent  us  word,  that  when  we 
would  deliver  his  daughter,  he  would  make  us  satisfaction  for  all 
injuries  done  us,  and  give  us  five  hundred  bushels  of  corn,  and 
forever  be  friends  with  us. 

That  he  sent,  we  received  in  part  of  payment,  and  returned  him 
this  answer :  —  That  his  daughter  should  be  well  used,  but  we  could 
not  believe  the  rest  of  our  arms  were  either  lost  or  stolen  from  him, 
and  therefore  till  he  sent  them,  we  would  keep  his  daughter. 

This  answer,  it  seemed,  much  displeased  him,  for  we  heard  no 
more  from  him  a  long  time  after,  when  with  Captain  Argall's  ship 
and  some  other  vessels  belonging  to  the  Colony,  Sir  Thomas  Dale, 
with  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  well  appointed,  went  up  into  his  own 
River,  to  his  chief  habitation,  with  his  daughter. 

With  many  scornful  bravados  they  affronted  us,  proudly  demand 
ing  why  we  came  thither ;  our  reply  was,  we  had  brought  his 
daughter,  and  to  receive  the  ransom  for  her  that  was  promised, 
or  to  have  it  perforce. 

They  nothing  dismayed  thereat,  told  us,  We  were  welcome  if  we 
came  to  fight,  for  they  were  provided  for  us,  but  advised  us,  if 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  7 

we  loved  our  lives  to  retire ;  else  they  would  use  us  as  they  had 
done  Captain  Ratcliffe.  We  told  them,  we  would  presently  have 
a  better  answer ;  but  we  were  no  sooner  within  shot  of  the  shore 
than  they  let  fly  their  Arrows  among  us  in  the  ship. 

Being  thus  justly  provoked,  we  presently  manned  our  boats, 
went  on  shore,  burned  all  their  houses,  and  spoiled  all  they  had 
we  could  find  ;  and  so  the  next  day  proceeded  higher  up  the  river, 
where  they  demanded  why  we  burnt  their  houses,  and  we,  why 
they  shot  at  us  :  They  replied  it  was  some  straggling  savage,  with 
many  other  excuses  ;  they  intended  no  hurt,  but  were  our  friends. 
We  told  them,  we  came  not  to  hurt  them,  but  visit  them  as 
friends  also. 

Upon  this  we  concluded  a  peace,  and  forthwith  they  dispatched 
messengers  to  Powhatan,  whose  answer,  they  told  us,  wee  must  ex 
pect  four  and  twenty  hours  ere  the  messengers  could  return  :  .  .  . 

Then  they  told  us,  our  men  were  run  away  for  fear  we  would 
hang  them,  yet  Powhatan's  men  were  run  after  them  :  as  for  our 
swords  and  pieces,  they  should  be  brought  us  the  next  day,  which 
was  only  but  to  delay  time  :  for  the  next  day  they  came  not. 

Then  we  went  higher,  to  a  house  of  Powhatan's,  called  Machot, 
where  we  saw  about  four  hundred  men  well  appointed  :  here  they 
dared  us  to  come  on  shore  which  we  did  :  no  show  of  fear  they 
made  at  all,  nor  offered  to  resist  our  landing,  but  walking  boldly 
up  and  down  amongst  us,  demanded  to  confer  with  our  captain,  of 
his  coming  in  that  manner,  and  to  have  truce  till  they  could  but 
once  more  send  to  their  king  to  know  his  pleasure,  which  if  it  were 
not  agreeable  to  their  expectations,  then  they  would  fight  with  us, 
and  defend  their  own  as  they  could.  Which  was  but  only  to  defer 
the  time,  to  carry  away  their  provisions :  yet  we  promised  them  truce 
till  the  next  day  at  noon,  and  then  if  they  would  fight  with  us,  they 
should  know  when  we  would  begin  by  our  drums  and  trumpets. 

Upon  this  promise  two  of  Powhatan's  sons  came  unto  us  to  see 
their  sister,  at  whose  sight,  seeing  her  well,  though  they  heard  to 
the  contrary,  they  much  rejoiced,  promising  they  would  persuade 
her  father  to  redeem  her,  and  forever  be  friends  with  us.  And  upon 
this  the  two  brethren  went  aboard  with  us,  and  we  sent  Master  John 
Rolfe  and  Master  Sparkes  to  Powhatan,  to  acquaint  him  with  the 


READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

business ;  kindly  they  were  entertained,  but  not  admitted  the  pres* 
ence  of  Powhatan,  but  they  spoke  with  Opechancanough,  his  brother 
and  successor ;  he  promised  to  do  the  best  he  could  to  Powhatan, 
all  might  be  well. . 

So  it  being  April  and  time  to  prepare  our  ground  and  set  our 
corn,  we  returned  to  Jamestown,  promising  the  forbearance  of  their 
performing  their  promise,  till  the  next  harvest. 

Long  before  this,  Master  John  Rolfe,  an  honest  gentleman,  and 
of  good  behaviour,  had  been  in  love  with  Pocahontas,  and  she  with 
him,  which  thing  at  that  instant  I  made  known  to  Sir  Thomas  Dale 
by  a  letter  from  him,  wherein  he  entreated  his  advice,  and  she  ac 
quainted  her  brother  with  it,  which  resolution  Sir  Thomas  Dale  well 
approved.  The  bruit  of  this  mariage  came  soon  to  the  knowledge 
of  Powhatan,  a  thing  acceptable  to  him,  as  appeared  by  his  sudden 
consent,  for  within  ten  days  he  sent  Opachisco,  an  old  uncle  of  hers, 
and  two  of  his  sons,  to  see  the  manner  of  the  mariage,  and  to  do 
in  that  behalf  what  they  requested,  for  the  confirmation  thereof,  as 
his  deputy ;  which  was  accordingly  done  about  the  first  of  April. 
And  ever  since  we  have  had  friendly  trade  and  commerce,  as  well 
with  Powhatan  himself,  as  all  his  subjects. 


WILLIAM  BRADFORD 

[Born  at  Austerfield,  England,  1590;  died  at  Plymouth,  Massachusetts, 

May  9,  1657] 

THE  PILGRIMS  LEAVE  LEYDEN  (1620) 

FROM  THE  HISTORY  "  OF  PLYMOUTH  PLANTATION,"  BOOK  I 

THE  SEVENTH  CHAPTER 

Of  their  departure  from  Ley  den,  and  other  things  there  about, 
ivith  their  arrival  at  Southampton,  where  they  all  met  together, 
and  took  in  their  provisions . 

At  length,  after  much  travail  and  these  debates,  all  things  were 
got  ready  and  provided.  A  small  ship  was  bought  and  fitted  in 
Holland  which  was  intended  as  to  serve  to  help  to  transport  them, 
so  to  stay  in  the  country,  and  attend  upon  fishing  and  such  other 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  9 

affairs  as  might  be  for  the  good  and  benefit  of  the  colony  when 
they  came  there.  Another  was  hired  at  London,  of  burden  about  9. 
score ;  and  all  other  things  got  in  readiness.  So  being  ready  to 
depart,  they  had  a  day  of  solemn  humiliation,  their  pastor  taking 
his  text  from  Ezra  8.  21.  And  there  at  the  river,  by  Ahava,  I  pro 
claimed  a  fast  that  we  might  humble  ourselves  before  our  God, 
and  seek  of  him  a  right  way  for  us,  and  for  our  children,  and  for 
all  our  substance.  Upon  which  he  spent  a  good  part  of  the  day 
very  profitably,  and  suitable  to  their  present  occasion.  The  rest  of 
the  time  was  spent  in  pouring  out  prayers  to  the  Lord  with  great 
fervency  mixed  with  abundance  of  tears.  And  the  time  being  come 
that  they  must  depart,  they  were  accompanied  with  most  of  their 
brethren  out  of  the  city,  unto  a  town  sundry  miles  off  called  Delfes 
Haven,  where  the  ships  lay  ready  to  receive  them.  So  they  left 
that  goodly  and  pleasant  city,  which  had  been  their  resting  place, 
near  1 2  years  ;  but  they  knew  they  were  pilgrims  and  looked  not 
much  on  those  things,  but  lift  up  their  eyes  to  the  heavens,  their 
dearest  country,  and  quieted  their  spirits.  When  they  came  to  the 
place  they  found  the  ship  and  all  things  ready.  And  such  of  their 
friends  as  could  not  come  with  them  followed  after  them,  and  sun 
dry  also  came  from  Amsterdam  to  see  them  shipped  and  to  take 
their  leave  of  them.  That  night  was  spent  with  little  sleep  by  the 
most,  but  with  friendly  entertainment  and  Christian  discourse,  and 
other  real  expressions  of  true  Christian  love.  The  next  day  the 
wind  being  fair  they  went  aboard,  and  their  friends  with  them, 
where  truly  doleful  was  the  sight  of  that  sad  and  mournful  parting ; 
To  see  what  sighs  and  sobs  and  prayers  did  sound  amongst  them, 
what  tears  did  rush  from  every  eye,  and  pithy  speeches  pierced  each 
heart ;  that  sundry  of  the  Dutch  strangers  that  stood  on  the  quay  as 
spectators,  could  not  refrain  from  tears.  Yet  comfortable  and  sweet 
it  was  to  see  such  lively  and  true  expressions  of  dear  and  unfained 
love.  But  the  tide  (which  stays  for  no  man)  calling  them  away  that 
were  thus  loath  to  depart,  their  reverend  pastor  falling  down  on  his 
knees  (and  they  all  with  him,)  with  watery  cheeks  commended  them 
with  most  fervent  prayers  to  the  Lord  and  his  blessing.  And  then 
with  mutual  embraces  and  many  tears,  they  took  their  leaves  one 
of  another;  which  proved  to  be  the  last  leave  to  many  of  them. 


io  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Thus  hoisting  sail,  with  a  prosperous  wind  they  came  in  short 
time  to  Southampton,  where  they  found  the  bigger  ship  come  from 
London,  lying  ready  with  all  the  rest  of  their  company.  After  a  joy 
ful  welcome,  and  mutual  congratulations,  with  other  friendly  enter 
tainments,  they  fell  to  parley  about  their  business,  how  to  dispatch 
with  the  best  expedition  ;  as  also  with  their  agents,  about  the  altera 
tion  of  the  conditions.  Mr.  Carver  pleaded  he  was  employed  here 
at  Hampton  and  knew  not  well  what  the  other  had  done  at  London. 
Mr.  Cushman  answered,  he  had  done  nothing  but  what  he  was  urged 
to  partly  by  the  grounds  of  equity  and  more  especially  by  necessity, 
otherwise  all  had  been  dashed  and  many  undone.  And  in  the  be 
ginning  he  acquainted  his  fellow  agents  herewith,  who  consented 
unto  him,  and  left  it  to  him  to  execute,  and  to  receive  the  money 
at  London,  and  send  it  down  to  them  at  Hampton,  where  they  made 
the  provisions ;  the  which  he  accordingly  did,  though  it  was  against 
his  mind,  and  some  of  the  merchants,  that  they  were  there  made. 
And  for  giving  them  notice  at  Leyden  of  this  change,  he  could  not 
well  in  regard  of  the  shortness  of  the  time ;  again,  he  knew  it  would 
trouble  them  and  hinder  the  business,  which  was  already  delayed 
overlong  in  regard  of  the  season  of  the  year,  which  he  feared  they 
would  find  to  their  cost.  But  these  things  gave  not  content  at  present. 
Mr.  Weston,  likewise,  came  up  from  London  to  see  them  dispatched 
and  to  have  the  conditions  confirmed ;  but  they  refused,  and  answered 
him,  that  he  knew  right  well  that  these  were  not  according  to  the 
first  agreement,  neither  could  they  yield  to  them  without  the  con 
sent  of  the  rest  that  were  behind  and  indeed  they  had  special  charge 
when  they  came  away,  from  the  chief  of  those  that  were  behind, 
not  to  do  it.  At  which  he  was  much  offended,  and  told  them,  they 
must  then  look  to  stand  on  their  own  legs.  So  he  returned  in  dis 
pleasure,  and  this  was  the  first  ground  of  discontent  between  them. 
And  whereas  there  wanted  well  near  ;£ioo  to  clear  things  at  their 
going  away,  he  would  not  take  order  to  disburse  a  penny,  but  let 
them  shift  as  they  could.  So  they  were  forced  to  sell  off  some  of 
their  provisions  to  stop  this  gap  which  was  some  3.  or  4.  score 
firkins  of  butter,  which  commodity  they  might  best  spare,  having 
provided  too  large  a  quantity  of  that  kind. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  II 

THE  COMPACT  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 
FROM  BOOK  II 
THE  2  BOOKE 

The  rest  of  this  History  (if  God  gives  me  life,  and  opportunity) 
I  shall,  for  brevity's  sake,  handle  by  way  of  Annals,  noting  only 
the  heads  of  principal  things,  and  passages  as  they  fell  in  order  of 
time,  and  may  seem  to  be  profitable  to  know,  or  to  make  use  of. 
And  this  may  be  as  the  second  Book. 

The  Remainder  of  Anno :  1620 

I  shall  a  little  return  back  and  begin  with  a  combination  made 
by  them  before  they  came  ashore,  being  the  first  foundation  of  their 
government  in  this  place ;  occasioned  partly  by  the  discontented 
mutinous  and  speeches  that  some  of  the  strangers  amongst  them 
had  let  fall  from  them  in  the  ship  —  That  when  they  came  ashore 
they  would  use  their  own  liberty  ;  for  none  had  power  to  command 
them,  the  patent  they  had  being  for  Virginia,  and  not  for  New 
England,  which  belonged  to  another  Government,  with  which  the 
Virginia  Company  had  nothing  to  do.  And  partly  that  such  an  act 
by  them  done  (this  their  condition  considered)  might  be  as  firm  as 
any  patent,  and  in  some  respects  more  sure. 

The  form  was  as  followeth. 

In  ye  name  of  God,  Amen.  We  whose  names  are  vnderwriten,  the  loyall 
subjects  of  our  dread  soueraigne  Lord,  King  James,  by  ye  grace  of  God,  of 
great  Britaine,  Franc,  &  Ireland  king,  defender  of  ye  faith,  &c. 

Haueing  vndertaken,  for  ye  glorie  of  God,  and  advancemente  of  ye  Christian 
faith  and  honour  of  our  king  &  countrie,  a  voyage  to  plant  ye  first  colonie  in 
ye  Northerne  parts  of  Virginia.  Doe  by  these  presents  solemnly  &  mutualy  in 
ye  presence  of  God,  and  one  of  another,  couenant,  &  combine  our  selues  to- 
geather  into  a  Ciuill  body  politick,  for  our  better  ordering,  &  preseruation  & 
furtherance  of  ye  ends  aforesaid ;  and  by  Vertue  hearof  to  enacte,  constitute, 
and  frame,  such  just  &  equall  lawes,  ordinances,  Acts,  constitutions,  &  offices, 
from  time  to  time,  as  shall  be  thought  most  meete  &  conuenient  for  ye  gen- 
erall  good  of  ye  Colonie,  vnto  which  we  promise  all  due  submission  and  obedi 
ence.  In  witnes  whereof  we  haue  herevnder  subscribed  our  names  at  Cap-Codd 
ye.  ii.  of  Nouember,  in  ye  year  of  ye  raigne  of  our  soueraigne  Lord,  King 
lames,  of  England,  France,  &  Ireland  ye  eighteenth,  and  of  Scotland  ye  fiftie 
fourth.  An0:  Dom.  1620. 


12          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

EARLY  TRIALS   OF  THE   PILGRIM  .FATHERS  (1620) 
FROM  BOOK  II 

In  these  hard  and  difficult  beginnings  they  found  some  discon 
tents  and  murmurings  arise  amongst  some,  and  mutinous  speeches 
and  carriages  in  others ;  but  they  were  soon  quelled,  and  overcome, 
by  the  wisdom,  patience,  and  just  and  equal  carriage  of  things,  by 
the  Governor  and  better  part  which  clave  faithfully  together  in  the 
main.  But  that  which  was  most  sad,  and  lamentable,  was,  that  in 
two  or  three  months'  time  half  of  their  company  died,  especially 
in  January  and  February,  being  the  depth  of  winter,  and  wanting 
houses  and  other  comforts ;  being  infected  with  scurvy  and  other 
diseases,  which  this  long  voyage  and  their  inaccommodate  condi 
tion  had  brought  upon  them ;  so  as  there  died  sometimes  two  or 
three  of  a  day,  in  the  foresaid  time ;  that  of  one  hundred  and  odd 
persons  scarce  fifty  remained  :  and  of  these  in  the  time  of  most 
distress  there  was  but  six  or  seven  sound  persons ;  who  to  their 
great  commendations,  be  it  spoken,  spared  no  pains,  night  nor 
day,  but  with  abundance  of  toil  and  hazard  of  their  own  health, 
fetched  them  wood,  made  them  fires,  drest  them  meat,  made  their 
beds,  washed  their  loathsome  clothes,  clothed  and  unclothed  them ; 
in  a  word  did  all  the  homely,  and  necessary  offices  for  them,  which 
dainty  and  queasy  stomachs  cannot  endure  to  hear  named  and  all 
this  willingly  and  cheerfully,  without  any  grudging  in  the  least, 
showing  herein  their  true  love  unto  their  friends  and  brethren ; 
a  rare  example  and  worthy  to  be  remembered.  Two  of  these  seven 
were  Mr.  William  Brewster  their  reverend  Elder,  and  Myles 
Standish  their  Captain  and  military  commander  (unto  whom  my 
self,  and  many  others  were  much  beholden  in  our  low,  and  sick 
condition)  and  yet  the  Lord  so  upheld  these  persons,  as  in  this 
general  calamity  they  were  not  at  all  infected  either  with  sickness, 
or  lameness.  And  what  I  have  said  of  these,  I  may  say  of  many 
others  who  died  in  this  general  visitation  and  others  yet  living ; 
that  whilst  they  had  health,  yea  or  any  strength  continuing  they 
were  not  wanting  to  any  that  had  need  of  them ;  and  I  doubt  not 
but  their  recompense  is  with  the  Lord. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  13 

But  I  may  not  here  pass  by  another  remarkable  passage  not  to 
be  forgotten.  As  this  calamity  fell  among  the  passengers  that 
were  to  be  left  here  to  plant,  and  were  hasted  ashore  and  made 
to  drink  water,  that  the  seamen  might  have  the  more  beer,  and 
one  in  his  sickness  desiring  but  a  small  can  of  beer,  it  was  an 
swered,  that  if  he  were  their  own  father  he  should  have  none  ;  the 
disease  began  to  fall  amongst  them  also,  so  as  almost  half  of  their 
company  died  before  they  went  away,  and  many  of  their  officers 
and  lustiest  men,  as  the  boatswain,  gunner,  three  quartermasters, 
the  cook,  and  others.  At  which  the  master  was  something  struck 
and  sent  to  the  sick  ashore  and  told  the  Governor  he  should  send 
for  beer  for  them  that  had  need  of  it,  though  he  drunk  water  home 
ward  bound.  But  now  amongst  his  company  there  was  far  another 
kind  of  carriage  in  this  misery  than  amongst  the  passengers ;  for 
they  that  before  had  been  boon  companions  in  drinking  and  jollity 
in  the  time  of  their  health  and  welfare,  began  now  to  desert  one 
another  in  this  calamity,  saying  they  would  not  hazard  their  lives 
for  them,  they  should  be  infected  by  coming  to  help  them  in  their 
cabins,  and  so,  after  they  came  to  die  by  it,  would  do  little  or 
nothing  for  them,  but  if  they  died  let  them  die.  But  such  of  the 
passengers  as  were  yet  aboard  showed  them  what  mercy  they  could, 
which  made  some  of  their  hearts  relent,  as  the  boatswain  (and  some 
others),  who  was  a  proud  young  man,  and  would  often  curse  and 
scoff  at  the  passengers  :  but  when  he  grew  weak,  they  had  com 
passion  on  him  and  helped  him  ;  then  he  confessed  he  did  not 
deserve  it  at  their  hands,  he  had  abused  them  in  word  and  deed. 
O !  saith  he,  you,  I  now  see,  show  your  love  like  Christians  indeed 
one  to  another,  but  we  let  one  another  lie  and  die  like  dogs.  An 
other  lay  cursing  his  wife,  saying  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  he  had 
never  come  this  unlucky  voyage,  and  anon  cursing  his  fellows,  say 
ing  he  had  done  this  and  that,  for  some  of  them,  he  had  spent  so 
much,  and  so  much,  amongst  them,  and  they  were  now  weary  of 
him,  and  did  not  help  him,  having  need.  Another  gave  his  com 
panion  all  he  had,  if  he  died,  to  help  him  in  his  weakness  :  he 
went  and  got  a  little  spice  and  made  him  a  mess  of  meat  once  or 
twice,  and  because  he  died  not  so  soon  as  he  expected,  he  went 


14          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

amongst  his  fellows,  and  swore  the  rogue  would  cozen  him,  he 
would  see  him  choked . before  he  made  him  any  more  meat:  and 
yet  the  poor  fellow  died  before  morning. 

All  this  while  the  Indians  came  skulking  about  them,  and  would 
sometimes  show  themselves  aloof  of,  but  when  any  approached 
near  them,  they  would  run  away ;  and  once  they  stole  away  their 
tools  where  they  had  been  at  work  and  were  gone  to  dinner.  But 
about  the  16  of  March  a  certain  Indian  came  boldly  amongst  them, 
and  spoke  to  them  in  broken  English,  which  they  could  well  under 
stand,  but  marvelled  at  it.  At  length  they  understood  by  discourse 
with  him,  that  he  was  not  of  these  parts,  but  belonged  to  the  east 
ern  parts  where  some  English  ships  came  to  fish,  with  whom  he 
was  acquainted,  and  could  name  sundry  of  them  by  their  names, 
amongst  whom  he  had  got  his  language.  He  became  profitable  to 
them  in  acquainting  them  with  many  things  concerning  the  state 
of  the  country  in  the  East-parts  where  he  lived,  which  was  after 
wards  profitable  unto  them ;  as  also  of  the  people  here,  of  their 
names,  number  and  strength,  of  their  situation  and  distance  from 
this  place,  and  who  was  chief  amongst  them.  His  name  was  Sama- 
sett;  he  told  them  also  of  another  Indian  whose  name  was  Squanto, 
a  native  of  this  place,  who  had  been  in  England  and  could  speak 
better  English  than  himself.  Being  after  some  time  of  entertain 
ment,  and  gifts  dismissed,  a  while  after  he  came  again,  and  five 
more  with  him,  and  they  brought  again  all  the  tools  that  were  stolen 
away  before,  and  made  way  for  the  coming  of  their  great  Sachem, 
called  Massasoyt.  Who  about  four  or  five  days  came  with  the  chief 
of  his  friends,  and  other  attendance  with  the  aforesaid  Squanto. 
With  whom  after  friendly  entertainment,  and  some  gifts  given 
him,  they  made  a  peace  with  him  (which  hath  now  continued  this 
twenty-four  years). 

CHRISTMAS  PASTIMES  (1622) 
FROM  BOOK  II 

On  the  day  called  Christmas-day,  the  Governor  called  them  out 
to  work,  (as  was  used)  but  the  most  of  this  new  company  excused 
themselves,  and  said  it  went  against  their  consciences  to  work  on 
that  day.  So  the  Governor  told  them  that  if  they  made  it  matter 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  15 

of  conscience,  he  would  spare  them,  till  they  were  better  informed ; 
so  he  led  away  the  rest  and  left  them  ;  but  when  they  came  home 
at  noon,  from  their  work,  he  found  them  in  the  street  at  play 
openly ;  some  pitching  the  bar,  and  some  at  stool-ball,  and  such 
like  sports.  So  he  went  to  them,  and  took  away  their  implements, 
and  told  them,  that  was  against  his  conscience,  that  they  should 
play,  and  others  work ;  if  they  made  the  keeping  of  it  matter  of 
devotion,  let  them  keep  their  houses,  but  there  should  be  no  gam 
ing,  or  revelling  in  the  streets.  Since  which  time  nothing  hath 
been  attempted  that  way,  at  least  openly.  .  .  . 


MOURT'S  RELATION 

[Relation  or  journal  of  the  beginning  and  proceeding  of  the  English  planta 
tion  settled  at  Plimoth  in  New  England,  by  certain  English  adventurers.  .  .  . 

London,  1622] 

YOUTHFUL  EXUBERANCE  ON  THE  "MAYFLOWER" 

The  fifth  day  [Dec.  5,  1620]  we  through  God's  mercy  escaped 
a  great  danger  by  the  foolishness  of  a  boy,  one  of  Francis  Billington's 
sons,  who  in  his  father's  absence  had  got  gunpowder  and  had  shot 
off  a  piece  or  two  and  made  squibs,  and  there  being  a  fowling  piece 
charged  in  his  father's  cabin  shot  her  off  in  the  cabin,  there  being 
a  little  barrel  of  powder  half -full  scattered  in  and  about  the  cabin, 
the  fire  being  within  four  foot  of  the  bed  between  the  decks,  and 
many  flints  and  iron  things  about  the  cabin,  and  many  people  about 
the  fire,  and  yet,  by  God's  mercy,  no  harm  done. 

EXPLORING  CAPE  COD 

Wednesday,  the  6th  of  December,  we  set  out,  being  very  cold 
and  hard  weather.  We  were  a  long  while  after  we  launched  from 
the  ship  before  we  could  get  clear  of  a  sandy  point  which  lay  within 
less  than  a  furlong  of  the  same.  In  which  time  two  were  very  sick, 
and  Edward  Tilley  had  like  to  have  sounded  [swooned]  with  cold  ; 
the  gunner  was  also  sick  unto  death,  (but  hope  of  tru[c]king  made 
him  to  go)  and  so  remained  all  that  day  and  the  next  night ;  at 


1 6  READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

length  we  got  clear  of  the  sandy  point  and  got  up  our  sails,  and 
within  an  hour  or  two  we  got  under  the  weather  shore,  and  then 
had  smoother  water  and  better  sailing,  but  it  was  very  cold,  for  the 
water  froze  on  our  clothes,  and  made  them  many  times  like  coats 
of  iron.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  We  then  directed  our  course  along  the  sea  sands,  to  the 
place  where  we  first  saw  the  Indians  ;  when  we  were  there,  we  saw 
it  was  also  a  grampus  which  they  were  cutting  up  ;  they  cut  it  into 
long  rands  or  pieces,  about  an  ell  long  and  two  handful  broad  ;  we 
found  here  and  there  a  piece  scattered  by  the  way,  as  it  seemed, 
for  haste.  This  place  the  most  were  minded  we  should  call  the 
Grampus  Bay  because  we  found  so  many  of  them  there.  We  fol 
lowed  the  tract  of  the  Indians'  bare  feet  a  good  way  on  the  sands. 
At  length  we  saw  where  they 'Struck  into  the  woods  by  the  side 
of  a  pond.  As  we  went  to  view  the  place,  one  said  he  thought  he 
saw  an  Indian  house  among  the  trees,  so  went  up  to  see.  .  .  . 
So  we  lit  on  a  path  but  saw  no  house  and  followed  a  great  way  into 
the  woods.  At  length  we  found  where  corn  had  been  set  but  not 
that  year.  Anon  we  found  a  great  burying  place  one  part  whereof 
was  encompassed  with  a  great  palisado  like  a  churchyard.  .  .  . 
Those  graves  were  more  sumptuous  than  those  at  Cornhill,  yet  we 
digged  none  of  them  up,  but  only  viewed  them  and  went  our  way. 

THE   LANDING  OF  THE   PILGRIMS 

That  night  we  returned  again  ashipboard  with  resolution  the 
next  morning  to  settle  on  some  of  those  places.  So,  in  the  morn 
ing,  after  we  had  called  on  God  for  direction,  we  came  to  this 
resolution,  to  go  presently  ashore  again,  and  to  take  a  better  view 
of  two  places  which  we  thought  most  fitting  for  us ;  for  we  could 
not  now  take  time  for  further  search  or  consideration,  our  victuals 
being  much  spent,  especially  our  beer,  and  it  being  now  the  iQth 
[new  style  29th]  of  December.  After  our  landing  and  viewing  of 
the  places  so  well  as  we  could,  we  came  to  a  conclusion  by  most 
voices  to  set  on  the  mainland,  on  tire  first  place,  on  an  high  ground 
where  there  is  a  great  deal  of  land  cleared  and  hath  been  planted 
with  corn  three  or  four  years  ago,  and  there  is  a  very  sweet  brook- 
runs  under  the  hillside  and  many  delicate  springs  of  as  good  water 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  I/ 

as  can  be  drunk,  and  where  we  may  harbor  our  shallops  and  boats 
exceeding  well,  and  in  this  brook  much  good  fish  in  their  season. 
On  the  further  side  of  the  river  also  much  cornground  cleared.  In 
one  field  is  a  great  hill  [i.e.  Burial  Hill]  on  which  we  point  to 
make  a  platform  and  plant  our  ordnance  which  will  command  all 
round  about ;  from  thence  we  may  see  into  the  bay  and  far  into 
the  sea,  and  we  may  see  thence  Cape  Cod.  Our  greatest  labor  will 
be  fetching  of  our  wood,  which  is  half  a  quarter  of  an  English 
mile,  but  there  is  enough  so  far  off.  What  people  inhabit  here 
we  yet  know  not,  for  as  yet  we  have  seen  none.  .  .  . 

Monday,  the  25th,  being  Christmas  Day  [new  style,  Jan.  4th] 
we  began  to  drink  water  aboard,  but  at  night  the  master  caused 
us  to  have  some  beer,  and  so  on  board  we  had  divers  times  now 
and  then  some  beer,  but  on  shore  none  at  all.  .  .  . 

Thursday  the  28th  of  December  [new  style,  Jan.  7th]  ...  in 
the  afternoon  we  went  to  measure  out  the  ground,  and  first  we  took 
notice  how  many  families  they  were,  willing  all  single  men  that  had 
no  wives  to  join  with  some  family  as  they  thought  fit,  that  so  we 
might  build  fewer  houses  ;  which  was  done  and  we  reduced  them 
to  nineteen  families.  To  greater  families  we  allotted  larger  plots ; 
to  every  person  half  a  pole  in  breadth  and  three  in  length,  and  so 
lots  were  cast  where  every  man  should  lie  ;  which  was  done  and 
staked  out.  We  thought  this  proportion  was  large  enough  at  the 
first,  for  houses  and  gardens  to  impale  them  round,  considering 
the  weakness  of  our  people,  many  of  them  growing  ill  with  colds, 
for  our  former  discoveries  in  frost  and  storms  and  the  wading  at 
Cape  Cod  had  brought  much  weakness  amongst  us.  .  .  . 

INDIAN   COURTESIES 

Thursday  the  22nd  of  March  [new  style  April  1st].  .  .  .  Samoset 
came  again  and  Squanto,  the  only  native  of  Patuxat  where  we  now 
inhabit,  who  was  one  of  the  twenty  captives  that  by  Hunt  were 
carried  away  and  had  been  in  England  and  dwelt  in  Cornhill  with 
Master  John  Slanie,  a  merchant,  and  could  speak  a  little  English, 
with  three  others ;  and  they  brought  with  them  some  few  skins  to 
truck  and  some  red  herrings  newly  taken  and  dried  but  not  salted, 
and  signified  unto  us  that  their  great  Sagamore,  Massasoit,  was 


1 8  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

hard  by  with  Quadequina,  his  brother,  and  all  their  men.  They 
could  not  well  express  in  English  what  they  would,  but  after  an 
hour  the  King  came  to  the  top  of  an  hill  over  against  us,  and  had 
in  his  train  sixty  men,  that  we  could  well  behold  them  and  they  us. 
We  were  not  willing  to  send  our  Governor  to  them  and  they  un 
willing  to  come  to  us ;  so  Squanto  went  again  unto  him,  who 
brought  word  that  we  should  send  one  to  parley  with  him,  which 
we  did,  which  was  Edward  Winslow,  to  know  his  mind  and  to 
signify  the  mind  and  the  will  of  our  Governor,  which  was  to  have 
trading  and  peace  with  them.  We  sent  to  the  King  a  pair  of 
knives  and  a  copper  chain  with  a  jewel  at  it.  To  Quadequina  we 
sent  likewise  a  knife  and  a  jewel  to  hang  in  his  ear,  and  withal 
a  pot  of  strong  water,  a  good  quantity  of  biscuit  and  some  butter, 
which  were  all  willingly  accepted. 


JOHN  WINTHROP 

[Born  at  Groton,  England,  January  12,  1587 ;  died  at  Boston,  Massachusetts, 

March  26,  1649] 

AN  ELECTION   IN  THE   COLONIAL  TIMES 
FROM  WINTHROP'S  "  HISTORY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND  " 

[1637.  May  17.]  Our  court  of  elections  was  at  Newtown.  So 
soon  as  the  court  was  set,  being  about  one  of  the  clock,  a  petition 
was  preferred  by  those  of  Boston.  The  governor  would  have  read 
it,  but  the  deputy  said  it  was  out  of  order ;  it  was  a  court  for  elec 
tions,  and  those  must  first  be  despatched,  and  then  their  petitions 
should  be  heard.  Divers  others  also  opposed  that  course,  as  an  ill 
precedent,  etc. ;  and  the  petition,  being  about  pretence  of  liberty, 
etc.,  (though  intended  chiefly  for  revoking  the  sentence  given 
against  Mr.  Wheelwright,)  would  have  spent  all  the  day  in  debate, 
etc. ;  but  yet  the  governor  and  those  of  that  party  would  not  proceed 
to  election,  except  the  petition  was  read.  Much  time  was  already 
spent  about  this  debate,  and  the  people  crying  out  for  election,  it 
was  moved  by  the  deputy,  that  the  people  should  divide  themselves, 
and  the  greater  number  must  carry  it.  And  so  it  was  done,  and 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  19 

the  greater  number  by  many  were  for  election.  But  the  governor 
and  that  side  kept  their  place  still,  and  would  not  proceed.  Where 
upon  the  deputy  told  him,  that,  if  he  would  not  go  to  election,  he 
and  the  rest  of  that  side  would  proceed.  Upon  that,  he  came 
from  his  company,  and  they  went  to  election ;  and  Mr.  Winthrop 
was  chosen  governor,  Mr.  Dudley  deputy,  and  Mr.  Endecott  of 
the  standing  council ;  and  Mr.  Israel  Stoughton  and  Mr.  Richard 
Saltonstall  were  called  in  to  be  assistants ;  and  Mr.  Vane,  Mr. 
Coddington,  and  Mr.  Dummer,  (being  all  of  that  faction,)  were 
left  quite  out. 

There  was  great  danger  of  a  tumult  that  day ;  for  those  of  that 
side  grew  into  fierce  speeches,  and  some  laid  hands  on  others ;  but 
seeing  themselves  too  weak,  they  grew  quiet.  They  expected  a 
great  advantage  that  day,  because  the  remote  towns  were  allowed 
to  come  in  by  proxy ;  but  it  fell  out,  that  there  were  enough  beside. 
But  if  it  had  been  otherwise,  they  must  have  put  in  their  deputies, 
as  other  towns  had  done,  for  all  matters  beside  elections.  Boston, 
having  deferred  to  choose  deputies  till  the  election  was  passed, 
went  home  that  night,  and  the  next  morning  they  sent  Mr.  Vane, 
the  late  governor,  and  Mr.  Coddington,  and  Mr.  Hoffe,  for  their 
deputies ;  but  the  court,  being  grieved  at  it,  found  a  means  to  send 
them  home  again,  for  that  two  of  the  freemen  of  Boston  had  no 
notice  of  the  election.  So  they  went  all  home,  and  the  next  morn 
ing  they  returned  the  same  gentlemen  again  upon  a  new  choice ; 
and  the  court  not  finding  how  they  might  reject  them,  they  were 
admitted.  .  .  . 

ITEMS  FROM  WINTHROP'S  HISTORY  COVERING  PERIOD 
FROM   1631-1648 

1631.  June  14.]  At  this  court  one  Philip  RatclifT,  a  servant  of 
Mr.  Cradock,  being  convict,  ore  tenus,  of  most  foul,  scandalous 
invectives  against  our  churches  and  government,  was  censured  to 
be  whipped,  lose  his  ears,  and  be  banished  from  the  plantation, 
which  was  presently  executed. 

1632.]  At  Watertown  there  was  (in  the  view  of  divers  wit 
nesses)  a  great  combat  between  a  mouse  and  a  snake ;  and  after 
a  long  fight,  the  mouse  prevailed  and  killed  the  snake.  The  pastor 


20          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  Boston,  Mr.  Wilson,  a  very  sincere,  holy  man,  hearing  of  it,  gave 
this  interpretation  :  That  the  snake  was  the  devil ;  the  mouse  was 
a  poor  contemptible  people,  which  God  had  brought  hither,  which 
should  overcome  Satan  here,  and  dispossess  him  of  his  Kingdom. 

1633.]  Two  little  girls  of  the  governor's  family  were  sitting 
under  a  great  heap  of  logs,  plucking  of  birds,  and  the  wind  driv 
ing  the  feathers  into  the  house,  the  governor's  wife  caused  them 
to  remove  away.  They  were  no  sooner  gone,  but  the  whole  heap 
of  logs  fell  down  in  the  place,  and  had  crushed  them  to  death,  if 
the  Lord,  in  his  special  providence,  had  not  delivered  them. 

Aug.  6.]  Two  men  servants  to  one  Moodye,  of  Roxbury,  re 
turning  in  a  boat  from  the  windmill,  struck  upon  the  oyster  bank. 
They  went  out  to  gather  oysters,  and  not  making  fast  their  boat, 
when  the  flood  came,  it  floated  away,  and  they  were  both  drowned, 
although  they  might  have  waded  out  on  either  side ;  but  it  was 
an  evident  judgment  of  God  upon  them,  for  they  were  wicked 
persons.  .  .  . 

1639.]  There  happened  a  memorable  thing  at  Plymouth  about 
this  time.  One  Keysar,  of  Lynn,  being  at  Plymouth  in  his  boat, 
and  one  Dickerson  with  him,  a  professor,  but  a  notorious  thief, 
was  coming  out  of  the  harbor  with  the  ebb,  and  the  wind  southerly, 
a  fresh  gale ;  yet,  with  all  their  skill  and  labor,  they  could  not  in 
three  hours,  get  the  boat  above  one  league,  so  as  they  were  forced 
to  come  to  an  anchor,  and,  at  the  flood,  to  go  back  to  the  town, 
and,  as  soon  as  they  were  come  in,  the  said  Dickerson  was  arrested 
upon  suspicion  of  a  gold  ring  and  some  other  pieces  of  gold,  which, 
upon  search,  were  found  about  him,  and  he  was  then  whipped  for 
it,  ...  These  and  many  other  examples  of  discovering  hypocrites 
and  other  lewd  persons,  and  bringing  them  under  their  deserved 
punishments,  do  (among  other  things)  show  the  presence  of  power 
of  God  in  his  ordinances,  and  his  blessing  upon  his  people  while 
they  endeavor  to  walk  before  him  with  uprightness. 

1640.]  At  the  court  of  assistants,  one  Hugh  Bewett  was  ban 
ished  for  holding  publicly  and  maintaining  that  he  was  free  from 
original  sin  and  from  actual  also  for  half  a  year  before,  and  that 
all  true  Christians  after  .  .  .  are  enabled  to  live  without  committing 
actual  sin. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  21 

1640.]  About  this  time  there  fell  out  a  thing  worthy  of  observa 
tion.  Mr.  Winthrop  the  younger,  one  of  the  magistrates,  having 
many  books  in  a  chamber  where  there  was  corn  of  divers  sorts,  had 
among  them  one  wherein  the  Greek  Testament,  the  Psalms,  and 
the  Common  Prayer  were  bound  together.  He  found  the  Common 
Prayer  eaten  with  mice,  every  leaf  of  it,  and  not  any  of  the  two 
other  touched,  nor  any  other  of  his  books,  though  there  were 
above  a  thousand. 

1641.]  A  young  man,  a  tanner  in  Boston,  going  to  wash  him 
self  in  a  creek,  said,  jestingly,  I  will  go  and  drown  myself  now, 
which  fell  out  accordingly;  for  by  the  slipperiness  of  the  earth,  he 
was  carried  beyond  his  depth,  and  having  no  skill  to  swim,  was 
drowned,  though  company  were  at  hand,  and  one  in  the  water 
with  him. 

1642.]  Nine  bachelors  commenced  at  Cambridge ;  they  were 
young  men  of  good  hope,  and  performed  their  acts,  so  as  gave 
good  proof  of  their  proficiency  in  the  tongues  and  arts.  The  Gen 
eral  Court  had  settled  a  government  or  superintendency  over  the 
college,  viz.  all  the  magistrates  and  elders  over  the  six  nearest 
churches  and  the  president,  or  the  greatest  part  of  these.  Most  of 
them  were  now  present  at  this  first  commencement,  and  dined  at 
the  college  with  the  scholars'  ordinary  commons,  which  was  done 
of  purpose  for  the  students'  encouragement,  etc.,  and  it  gave  good 
content  to  all. 

1645.]  At  Ipswich  there  was  a  calf  brought  forth  with  one  head 
and  three  mouths,  three  noses,  and  six  eyes.  What  these  prodigies 
portended  the  Lord  only  knows,  which  in  his  due  time  he  will 
manifest. 

1646.]  Mention  was  made  before  of  some  beginning  to  instruct 
the  Indians,  etc.  Mr.  John  Eliot,  teacher  of  the  church  of  Rox- 
bury,  found  such  encouragement,  as  he  took  great  pains  to  get 
their  language,  and  in  a  few  months  could  speak  of  the  things  of 
God  to  their  understanding ;  and  God  prospered  his  endeavors, 
so  as  he  kept  a  constant  lecture  to  them  in  two  places,  one  week 
at  the  wigwam  of  one  Wabon,  a  new  sachem  near  Watertown  mill, 
and  the  other  the  next  week  in  the  wigwam  of  Cutshamekin  near 
Dorchester  mill.  And  for  the  furtherance  of  the  work  of  God, 


22  READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN   LITERATURE 

divers  of  the  English  resorted  to  his  lecture,  and  the  governor  and 
other  of  the  magistrates  and  elders  sometimes ;  and  the  Indians 
began  to  repair  thither  from  other  parts. 

His  manner  of  proceeding  was  thus  :  he  would  persuade  one  of 
the  other  elders  or  some  magistrate  to  begin  the  exercise  with  prayer 
in  English  ;  then  he  took  a  text,  and  read  it  first  in  the  Indian  lan 
guage,  and  after  in  English  ;  then  he  preached  to  them  in  Indian 
about  an  hour  (but  first  I  should  have  spoke  of  the  catechising  their 
children,  who  were  soon  brought  to  answer  him  some  short  ques 
tions,  whereupon  he  gave  each  of  them  an  apple  or  a  cake) ;  then 
he  demanded  of  some  of  the  chiefs,  if  they  understood  him  ;  if  they 
answered,  yea,  then  he  asked  of  them  if  they  had  any  questions  to 
propound.  And  they  had  usually  two  or  three  or  more  questions, 
which  he  did  resolve. 

At  one  time  (when  the  governor  was  there  and  about  two  hundred 
people,  Indian  and  English,  in  one  wigwam  of  Cutshamekin's)  an 
old  man  asked  him,  if  God  would  receive  such  an  old  man  as  he 
was ;  to  whom  he  answered  by  opening  the  parable  of  the  work 
men  that  were  hired  into  the  vineyard ;  and  when  he  had  opened 
it,  he  asked  the  old  man,  if  he  did  believe  it,  who  answered  he  did, 
and  was  ready  to  weep.  .  .  . 

The  Indians  were  usually  very  attentive,  and  kept  their  children 
so  quiet  as  caused  no  disturbance.  Some  of  them  began  to  be  seri 
ously  affected,  and  to  understand  the  things  of  God,  and  they  were 
generally  ready  to  reform  whatsoever  they  were  told  to  be  against 
the  word  of  God,  as  their  sorcery  (which  they  call  powwowing),  their 
whoredoms,  etc.,  idleness,  etc.  The  Indians  grew  very  inquisitive 
after  knowledge  both  in  things  divine  and  also  human,  so  as  one 
of  them,  meeting  with  an  honest  plain  Englishman,  would  needs 
know  of  him,  what  were  the  first  beginnings  (which  we  call  prin 
ciples)  of  a  commonwealth.  The  Englishman,  being  far  short  in 
the  knowledge  of  such  matters,  yet  ashamed  that  an  Indian  should 
find  an  Englishman  ignorant  of  any  thing,  bethought  himself  what 
answer  to  give  him,  at  last  resolved  upon  this,  viz.,  that  the  first 
principle  of  a  commonwealth  was  salt,  for  (saith  he)  by  means  of 
salt  we  can  keep  our  flesh  and  fish,  to  have  it  ready  when  we  need 
it,  whereas  you  lose  much  for  want  of  it,  and  are  sometimes  ready 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  23 

to  starve.  A  second  principle  is  iron,  for  thereby  we  fell  trees,  build 
houses,  till  our  land,  etc.  A  third  is,  ships,  by  which  we  carry  forth 
such  commodities  as  we  have  to  spare,  and  fetch  in  such  as  we 
need,  as  cloth,  wine,  etc.  Alas  !  (saith  the  Indian)  then  I  fear,  we 
shall  never  be  a  commonwealth,  for  we  can  neither  make  salt,  nor 
iron,  nor  ships. 

LETTERS  OF  JOHN  WINTHROP  AND  HIS  THIRD  WIFE, 
MARGARET 

JOHN  WINTHROP  TO  HIS  WIFE,  APRIL  3,  1630 

My  love,  my  joy,  my  faithful  one,  I  suppose  thou  didst  not  expect 
to  have  any  more  letters  from  me  till  the  return  of  our  ships ;  but 
so  is  the  good  pleasure  of  God,  that  the  wind  should  not  serve  yet 
to  carry  us  hence.  He  will  do  all  things  in  his  own  time,  and  that 
shall  be  for  the  best  in  the  end.  We  acknowledge  it  a  great  mercy 
to  us,  that  we  went  not  out  to  sea  on  Monday,  when  the  wind  was 
fair  for  one  day  ;  for  we  had  been  exposed,  ever  since,  to  sore  tem 
pests  and  contrary  winds.  I  praise  God,  we  are  all  in  good  health, 
and  want  nothing.  For  myself,  I  was  never  at  more  liberty  of  body 
and  mind  these  many  years.  The  Lord  make  me  thankful  and  wise 
to  improve  his  blessings  for  the  furtherance  of  his  own  work.  I  desire 
to  resign  myself  wholly  to  his  gracious  disposing.  Oh  that  I  had 
an  heart  so  to  do,  and  to  trust  perfectly  in  him  for  his  assistance 
in  all  our  ways.  We  find  him  still  going  along  with  us.  He  hath 
brought  in  the  heart  of  the  master  of  our  ship  to  afford  us  all  good 
respect,  and  to  join  with  us  in  every  good  action.  Yesterday  he 
caused  his  seamen  to  keep  a  fast  with  us,  wherein  the  Lord  assisted 
us  and  our  minister  very  comfortably ;  and  when  five  of  the  clock 
came,  I  had  respite  to  remember  thee  (it  being  Friday),  and  to  parley 
with  thee,  and  to  meet  thee  in  spirit  before  the  Lord.  ... 

I  am  uncertain  whether  I  shall  have  opportunity  to  send  these 
to  thee ;  for,  if  the  wind  turn,  we  shall  soon  be  gone.  Therefore 
I  will  not  write  much.  I  know  it  will  be  sufficient  for  thy  present 
comfort,  to  hear  of  our  welfare ;  and  this  is  the  third  letter  I  have 
written  to  thee,  since  I  came  to  Hampton,  in  requital  of  those  two 
I  received  from  thee,  which  I  do  often  read  with  much  delight, 


24  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

apprehending  so  much  love  and  sweet  affection  in  them,  as  I  am 
never  satisfied  with  reading,  nor  can  read  them  without  tears ;  but 
whether  they  proceed  from  joy,  sorrow,  or  desire,  or  from  that  con 
sent  of  affection  which  I  always  hold  with  thee,  I  cannot  conceive. 
Ah,  my  dear  heart,  I  ever  held  thee  in  high  esteem,  as  thy  love 
and  goodness  hath  well  deserved ;  but  (if  it  be  possible)  I  shall  yet 
prize  thy  virtue  at  a  greater  rate,  and  long  more  to  enjoy  thy  sweet 
society  than  ever  before.  I  am  sure  thou  art  not  short  of  me  in  this 
desire.  Let  us  pray  hard,  and  pray  in  faith,  and  our  God,  in  his 
good  time,  will  accomplish  our  desire.  Oh,  how  loath  am  I  to  bid 
thee  farewell !  but,  since  it  must  be,  farewell,  my  sweet  love,  fare 
well.  Farewell,  my  dear  children  and  family.  The  Lord  bless  you 
all,  and  grant  me  to  see  your  faces  once  again.  Come  (my  dear), 
take  him  and  let  him  rest  in  thine  arms,  who  will  ever  remain, 

Thy  faithful  husband 

Jo.  WINTHROP 

Commend  my  love  to  all  our  friends  at  Castleins,  Mr.  Leigh  and 
his  wife,  my  neighbor  Cole  and  his  wife,  and  all  the  rest  of  our  good 
friends  and  neighbors,  and  our  good  friends  at  Maplested,  when  you 
see  them,  and  those  our  worthy  and  kind  friends  at  Assington,  etc. 
My  brother  Arthur  hath  carried  himself  very  soberly  since  he  came 
on  shipboard,  and  so  hath  Mr.  Brand's  son,  and  my  cousin  Ro. 
Sampson.  I  hope  their  friends  shall  hear  well  of  them. 

From  aboard  the  Arbella,  riding  before  Yarmouth, 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  April  3,  1630. 

To  iny  very  loving  Wife,  MRS.  WINTHROP,  "l 
the  elder,  at  Groton,  in  Suffolk,  d '  d.          J 


MRS.  WINTHROP  TO  HER  HUSBAND 

Dear  in  my  thoughts,  I  blush  to  think  how  much  I  have  neglected 
the  opportunity  of  presenting  my  love  to  you.  Sad  thoughts  possess 
my  spirits,  and  I  cannot  repulse  them ;  which  makes  me  unfit  for 
any  thing,  wondering  what  the  Lord  means  by  all  these  troubles 
among  us.  Sure  I  am,  that  all  shall  work  to  the  best  to  them  that 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  25 

love  God,  or  rather  are  loved  of  him.  I  know  he  will  bring  light 
out  of  obscurity,  and  make  his  righteousness  shine  forth  as  clear 
as  the  noonday.  Yet  I  find  in  myself  an  adverse  spirit,  and  a  trem 
bling  heart,  not  co-willing  to  submit  to  the  will  of  God  as  I  desire. 
There  is  a  time  to  plant,  and  a  time  to  pull  up  that  which  is  planted, 
which  I  could  desire  might  not  be  yet.  But  the  Lord  knoweth  what 
is  best,  and  his  will  be  done.  But  I  will  write  no  more.  Hoping 
to  see  thee  to-morrow,  my  best  affections  being  commended  to  your 
self,  the  rest  of  our  friends  at  Newton,  I  commend  thee  to  God. 

Your  loving  wife 

MARGARET  WINTHROP 
Sad  Boston,  1637 
To  her  honored  Husband,  "1 
these  be  delivered  J 


JOHN  COTTON 

[Born  at  Derby,  England,  1585;  died  at  Boston,  Massachusetts,  1652] 

A  DEFENCE  OF  PERSECUTION 

FROM  "  AN  ANSWER  OF  MR.  JOHN  COTTON  OF  BOSTON  IN  NEW  ENGLAND, 

TO  THE  AFORESAID  ARGUMENTS  AGAINST  PERSECUTION  FOR  CAUSE  OF 

CONSCIENCE,"  PRINTED  IN  WILLIAMS'  "  BLOODY  TENENT  " 

Your  second  head  of  reasons  is  taken  from  the  profession  and 
practice  of  famous  princes,  King  James,  Stephen  of  Poland,  King 
of  Bohemia. 

Whereunto  a  treble  answer  may  briefly  be  returned. 

First,  we  willingly  acknowledge,  that  none  is  to  be  persecuted 
at  all,  no  more  than  they  may  be  oppressed  for  righteousness  sake. 

Again,  we  acknowledge  that  none  is  to  be  punished  for  his  con 
science,  though  misinformed,  as  hath  been  said,  unless  his  error 
be  fundamental,  or  seditiously  and  turbulently  promoted,  and  that 
after  due  conviction  of  his  conscience,  that  it  may  appear  he  is  not 
punished  for  his  conscience,  but  for  sinning  against  his  conscience. 

Furthermore,  we  acknowledge  none  is  to  be  constrained  to  believe 
or  profess  the  true  religion  till  he  be  convinced  in  judgment  of  the 


26  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

truth  of  it :  but  yet  restrained  he  may  (be)  from  blaspheming  the 
truth,  and  from  seducing  any  unto  pernicious  errors. 

2.  We  answer,  what  princes  profess  or  practice,  is  not  a  rule 
of  conscience :  they  many  times  tolerate  that  in  point  of  State 
policy,  which  cannot  justly  be  tolerated  in  point  of  true  Christianity. 

Again,  princes  many  times  tolerate  offenders  out  of  very  necessity, 
when  the  offenders  are  either  too  many,  or  too  mighty  for  them  to 
punish,  in  which  respect  David  tolerated  Joab  and  his  murthers, 
but  against  his  will. 

3.  We  answer  further,  that  for  those  three  princes  named  by 
you,  who  tolerated  religion,  we  can  name  you  more  and  greater 
who  have  not  tolerated  Heretics  and  Schismatics,  notwithstanding 
their  pretence  of  conscience,  and  arrogating  the  crown  of  martyrdom 
to  their  sufferings. 

Constantine  the  Great  at  the  request  of  the  general  Council 
of  Nice,  banished  Arius  with  some  of  his  fellows.  Sozom.  lib.  i. 
Eccles.  Hist.  cap.  19.  20.  The  same  Constantine  made  a  severe 
law  against  the  Donatists.  And  the  like  proceedings  against  them 
were  used  by  Valentinian,  Gratian,  and  Theodosius,  as  Augustine 
reporteth  in  Epist.  166.  Only  Julian  the  Apostate  granted  liberty 
to  Heretics  as  well  as  to  Pagans,  that  he  might  by  tolerating  all 
weeds  to  grow,  choke  the  vitals  of  Christianity,  which  was  also 
the  practice  and  sin  of  Valens  the  Arian. 

Queen  Elizabeth,  as  famous  for  her  government  as  any  of  the 
former,  it  is  well  known  what  laws  she  made  and  executed  against 
Papists.  Yea  and  King  James  (one  of  your  own  witnesses)  though 
he  was  slow  in  proceeding  against  Papists  (as  you  say)  for  conscience 
sake,  yet  you  are  not  ignorant  how  sharply  and  severely  he  punished 
those  whom  the  malignant  world  calleth  Puritans,  men  of  more 
conscience  and  better  faith  than  he  tolerated. 

I  come  now  to  your  third  and  last  argument,  taken  from  the 
judgment  of  ancient  and  later  writers,  yea  even  of  Papists  them 
selves,  who  have  condemned  persecution  for  conscience  sake. 

You  begin  with  Hilary,  whose  testimony  we  might  admit  without 
any  prejudice  to  the  truth  :  for  it  is  true,  the  Christian  Church  did 
not  persecute,  but  is  persecuted.  But  to  excommunicate  an  Heretic, 
is  not  to  persecute ;  that  is,  it  is  not  to  punish  an  innocent,  but  a 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  27 

culpable  and  damnable  person,  and  that  not  for  conscience,  but  for 
persisting  in  error  against  light  of  conscience,  whereof  it  hath  been 
convinced. 

It  is  true  also  what  he  saith,  that  neither  the  Apostles  did,  nor 
may  we  propagate  (the)  Christian  Religion  by  the  sword  :  but  if 
Pagans  cannot  be  won  by  the  word,  they  are  not  to  be  compelled 
by  the  sword.  Nevertheless,  this  hindreth  not,  but  if  they  or  any 
others  should  blaspheme  the  true  God,  and  his  true  religion,  they 
ought  to  be  severely  punished  :  and  no  less  do  they  deserve,  if  they 
seduce  from  the  truth  to  damnable  heresies  or  idolatry. 

ON  MY  REVEREND  AND  DEAR  BROTHER,  MR.  THOMAS 

HOOKER,  LATE  PASTOR  OF  THE  CHURCH  AT  HARTFORD 

ON  CONNECTIQUOT 

To  see  three  things  was  holy  Austin's  wish, 
Rome  in  her  Flower,  Christ  Jesus  in  the  Flesh, 
And  Paul  i'  th  Pulpit ;  Lately  men  might  see, 
Two  first,  and  more,  in  Hooker's  Ministry. 

Zion  in  Beauty,  is  a  fairer  sight, 

Than  Rome  in  Flower,  with  all  her  Glory  dight : 

Yet  Zion's  Beauty  did  most  clearly  shine, 

In  Hooker's  Rule,  and  Doctrine ;  both  Divine. 

Christ  in  the  Spirit,  is  more  than  Christ  in  Flesh, 
Our  Souls  to  quicken,  and  our  States  to  bless  : 
Yet  Christ  in  Spirit  brake  forth  mightily, 
In  Faithful  Hooker's  searching  Ministry. 

Paul  in  the  Pulpit,  Hooker  could  not  reach, 
Yet  did  He  Christ  in  Spirit  so  lively  Preach : 
That  living  Hearers  thought  He  did  inherit 
A  double  Portion  of  Paul's  lively  spirit. 

Prudent  in  Rule,  in  Argument  quick,  full : 
Fervent  in  Prayer,  in  Preaching  powerful : 
That  well  did  learned  Ames  record  bear, 
The  like  to  Him  He  never  wont  to  hear. 


28          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

'Twas  of  Geneva's  Worthies  said,  with  wonder, 
(Those  Worthies  Three  : )  Farell  was  wont  to  thunder ; 
Viret,  like  Rain,  on  tender  grass  to  shower, 
But  Calvin,  lively  Oracles  to  pour. 

All  these  in  Hooker's  spirit  did  remain  : 
A  Son  of  Thunder,  and  a  Shower  of  Rain, 
A  pourer  forth  of  lively  Oracles, 
In  saving  souls,  the  sum  of  miracles. 

Now  blessed  Hooker,  thou  art  set  on  high, 

Above  the  thankless  world,  and  cloudy  sky : 

Do  thou  of  all  thy  labor  reap  the  Crown, 

Whilst  we  here  reap  the  seed,  which  thou  hast  sowen. 


NATHANIEL  WARD 

[Born  at  Haverhill  (?),  England,  about  1578 ;  died  in  England  about  1653] 

WOMEN'S  FASHIONS 
FROM  "THE  SIMPLE  COBLER  OF  AGGAWAM  IN  AMERICA" 

Should  I  not  keep  promise  in  speaking  a  little  to  Women's 
fashions,  they  would  take  it  unkindly.  I  was  loath  to  pester 
better  matter  with  such  stuff ;  I  rather  thought  it  meet  to  let  them 
stand  by  themselves,  like  the  Qua  Genus  in  the  grammar,  being 
deficients,  or  redundants,  not  to  be  brought  under  any  rule  :  I  shall 
therefore  make  bold  for  this  once,  to  borrow  a  little  of  their 
loose-tongued  liberty,  and  misspend  a  word  or  two  upon  their  long- 
waisted,  but  short-skirted  patience :  a  little  use  of  my  stirrup  will 
do  no  harm.  .  .  . 

It  is  known  more  than  enough,  that  I  am  neither  niggard,  nor 
cynic,  to  the  due  bravery  of  the  true  gentry.  I  honor  the  woman 
that  can  honor  herself  with  her  attire  ;  a  good  text  always  deserves 
a  fair  margent ;  I  am  not  much  offended  if  I  see  a  trim  far  trimmer 
than  she  that  wears  it.  In  a  word,  whatever  Christianity  or  civility 
will  allow,  I  can  afford  with  London  measure :  but  when  I  hear 
a  nugiperous  gentledame  inquire  what  drees  the  queen  is  in  this 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  29 

week :  what  the  nudiustertian  fashion  of  the  court ;  I  mean  the 
very  newest ;  with  egg  to  be  in  it  in  all  haste,  whatever  it  be ;  I 
look  at  her  as  the  very  gizzard  of  a  trifle,  the  product  of  a  quarter 
of  a  cipher,  the  epitome  of  nothing,  fitter  to  be  kicked,  if  she  were 
of  a  kickable  substance,  than  either  honored  or  humored. 

To  speak  moderately,  I  truly  confess  it  is  beyond  the  ken  of  my 
understanding  to  conceive  how  those  women  should  have  any  true 
grace,  or  valuable  virtue,  that  have  so  little  wit,  as  to  disfigure 
themselves  with  such  exotic  garbs,  as  not  only  dismantles  their 
native  lovely  lustre,  but  transclouts  them  into  gant  bargeese,  ill- 
shapen-shotten  shell-fish,  Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  or  at  the  best 
into  French  flurts  of  the  pastery,  which  a  proper  English  woman 
should  scorn  with  her  heels.  It  is  no  marvel  they  wear  drails  on 
the  hinder  part  of  their  heads,  having  nothing  as  it  seems  in  the 
forepart,  but  a  few  squirrels'  brains  to  help  them  frisk  from  one 
ill-favored  fashion  to  another. 

These  whim  Crown'd  shes,  these  fashion-fancying  wits, 
Are  empty  thin  brain'd  shells,  and  fiddling  Kits. 

The  very  troublers  and  impoverishers  of  mankind,  I  can  hardly 
forbear  to  commend  to  the  world  a  saying  of  a  lady  living  some 
time  with  the  Queen  of  Bohemia  ;  I  know  not  where  she  found  it, 
but  it  is  pity  it  should  be  lost. 

The  world  is  full  of  care,  much  like  unto  a  bubble, 

Women  and  care,  and  care  and  Women,  and  Women  and  care  and  trouble. 

The  verses  are  even  enough  for  such  odd  pegma's.  I  can  make 
myself  sick  at  any  time,  with  comparing  the  dazzling  splendor 
wherewith  our  gentlewomen  were  embellished  in  some  former 
habits,  with  the  gut-foundered  goosedom,  wherewith  they  are  now 
surcingled  and  debauched.  We  have  about  five  or  six  of  them  in 
our  colony  :  if  I  see  any  of  them  accidentally,  I  cannot  cleanse  my 
fancy  of  them  for  a  month  after.  I  have  been  a  solitary  widower 
almost  twelve  years,  purposed  lately  to  make  a  step  over  to  my 
native  country  for  a  yoke-fellow  :  but  when  I  consider  how  women 
there  have  tripe-wifed  themselves  with  their  cladments,  I  have  no 
heart  to  the  voyage,  lest  their  nauseous  shapes  and  the  sea,  should 
work  too  sorely  upon  my  stomach.  I  speak  sadly;  methinks  it 


30  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

should  break  the  hearts  of  English  men,  to  see  so  many  goodly 
English  women  imprisoned  in  French  cages,  peering  out  of  their 
hood  holes  for  some  men  of  mercy  to  help  them  with  a  little  wit, 
and  nobody  relieves  them. 

It  is  a  more  common  than  convenient  saying,  that  nine  tailors 
make  a  man  :  it  were  well  if  nineteen  could  make  a  woman  to 
her  mind.  If  tailors  were  men  indeed,  well  furnished  but  with  mere 
moral  principles,  they  would  disdain  to  be  led  about  like  apes,  by 
such  mimic  marmosets.  It  is  a  most  unworthy  thing  for  men  that 
have  bones  in  them,  to  spend  their  lives  in  making  fiddle-cases  for 
futilous  women's  fancies ;  which  are  the  very  pettitoes  of  infirmity, 
the  giblets  of  perquisquilian  toys.  I  am  so  charitable  to  think,  that 
most  of  that  mystery  would  work  the  cheerfuller  while  they  live, 
if  they  might  be  well  discharged  of  the  tiring  slavery  of  mistiring 
women.  It  is  no  little  labor  to  be  continually  putting  up  English 
women,  into  outlandish  casks  ;  who  if  they  be  not  shifted  anew, 
once  in  a  few  months,  grow  too  sour  for  their  husbands.  What 
this  trade  will  answer  for  themselves  when  God  shall  take  measure 
of  tailors'  consciences  is  beyond  my  skill  to  imagine.  There  was  a 

time  when, 

The  joining  of  the  Red  Rose  with  the  White, 
Did  'set  our  State  into  a  Damask  plight. 

But  now  our  roses  are  turned  \aflore  de  lices,  our  carnations  to 
tulips,  our  gillyflowers  to  daisies,  our  city  dames,  to  an  indenomi- 
nable  quaemalry  of  overturcased  things.  He  that  makes  coats  for 
the  moon,  had  need  take  measures  every  noon :  and  he  that  makes 
for  women,  as  often,  to  keep  them  from  lunacy. 

I  have  often  heard  divers  ladies  vent  loud  feminine  complaints 
of  the  wearisome  varieties  and  chargeable  changes  of  fashions :  I 
marvel  themselves  prefer  not  a  bill  of  redress.  I  would  Essex  ladies 
would  lead  the  chore,  for  the  honor  of  their  county  and  persons ; 
or  rather  the  thrice  honorable  ladies  of  the  court,  whom  it  best 
beseems  :  who  may  well  presume  of  a  Le  Roy  le  veult  from  our 
sober  King,  a  Les  Seigneurs  ont  assenttis  from  our  prudent  peers, 
and  the  like  Assentus,  from  our  considerate,  I  dare  not  say  wife- 
worn  Commons ;  who  I  believe  had  much  rather  pass  one  such 
bill,  than  pay  so  many  tailor's  bills  as  they  are  forced  to  do. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  31 

Most  dear  and  unparalleled  ladies,  be  pleased  to  attempt  it :  as 
you  have  the  precellency  of  the  women  of  the  world  for  beauty 
and  feature ;  so  assume  the  honor  to  give,  and  not  take  law  from 
any,  in  matter  of  attire.  If  ye  can  transact  so  fair  a  motion  among 
yourselves  unanimously,  I  dare  say,  they  that  most  renite,  will 
least  repent.  What  greater  honor  can  your  honors  desire,  than  to 
build  a  promontory  precedent  to  all  foreign  ladies,  to  deserve  so 
eminently  at  the  hands  of  all  the  English  gentry  present  and  to 
come :  and  to  confute  the  opinion  of  all  the  wise  men  in  the  world ; 
who  never  thought  it  possible  for  women  to  do  so  good  a  work. 

If  any  man  think  I  have  spoken  rather  merrily  than  seriously 
he  is  much  mistaken,  I  have  written  what  I  write  with  all  the  in 
dignation  I  can,  and  no  more  than  I  ought.  I  confess  I  veered 
my  tongue  to  this  kind  of  language  de  industria  though  unwillingly, 
supposing  those  I  speak  to  are  uncapable  of  grave  and  rational 
arguments. 

I  desire  all  ladies  and  gentlewomen  to  understand  that  all  this 
while  I  intend  not  such  as  through  necessary  modesty  to  avoid 
morose  singularity,  follow  fashions  slowly,  a  flight  shot  or  two  off, 
showing  by  their  moderation,  that  they  rather  draw  countermont 
with  their  hearts,  than  put  on  by  their  examples. 

I  point  my  pen  only  against  the  light-heeled  beagles  that  lead 
the  chase  so  fast,  that  they  run  all  civility  out  of  breath,  against 
these  ape-headed  pullets,  which  invent  antique  fool-fangles,  merely 
for  fashion  and  novelty  sake. 

In  a  word,  if  I  begin  once  to  declaim  against  fashions,  let  men 
and  women  look  well  about  them,  there  is  somewhat  in  the  busi 
ness  ;  I  confess  to  the  world,  I  never  had  grace  enough  to  be  strict 
in  that  kind ;  and  of  late  years,  I  have  found  syrup  of  pride  very 
wholesome  in  a  due  dose,  which  makes  me  keep  such  store  of  that 
drug  by  me,  that  if  any  body  comes  to  me  for  a  question-full  or 
two  about  fashions,  they  never  complain  of  me  for  giving  them 
hard  measure,  or  under  weight. 

But  I  address  myself  to  those  who  can  both  hear  and  mend  all 
if  they  please :  I  seriously  fear,  if  the  pious  Parliament  do  not  find 
time  to  state  fashions,  as  ancient  Parliaments  have  done  in  some 
part,  God  will  hardly  find  a  time  to  state  religion  or  peace.  They 


32          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

are  the  surquedries  of  pride,  the  wantonness  of  idleness,  provoking 
sins,  the  certain  prodromies  of  assured  judgment,  Zeph.  i.  7,  8. 

It  is  beyond  all  account  how  many  gentlemen's  and  citizens' 
estates  are  deplumed  by  their  feather-headed  wives,  what  useful 
supplies  the  pannage  of  England  would  afford  other  countries,  what 
rich  returns  to  itself,  if  it  were  not  sliced  out  into  male  and  female 
fripperies  :  and  what  a  multitude  of  misemployed  hands  might  be 
better  improved  in  some  more  manly  manufactures  for  the  public 
weal.  It  is  not  easily  credible,  what  may  be  said  of  the  preter- 
pluralities  of  tailors  in  London :  I  have  heard  an  honest  man  say, 
that  not  long  since  there  were  numbered  between  Temple-bar  and 
Charing-Cross,  eight  thousand  of  that  trade  ;  let  it  be  conjectured 
by  that  proportion  how  many  there  are  in  and  about  London,  and 
in  all  England  they  will  appear  to  be  very  numerous.  If  the  Par 
liament  would  please  to  mend  women,  which  their  husbands  dare 
not  do,  there  need  not  so  many  men  to  make  and  mend  as  there 
are.  I  hope  the  present  doleful  estate  of  the  realm  will  persuade 
more  strongly  to  some  considerate  course  herein  than  I  now  can. 

Knew  I  how  to  bring  it  in,  I  would  speak  a  word  to  long  hair, 
whereof  I  will  say  no  more  but  this  :  if  God  proves  not  such  a 
Barber  to  it  as  he  threatens,  unless  it  be  amended,  Esa.  vii.  20, 
before  the  peace  of  the  state  and  church  be  well  settled,  then  let 
my  prophecy  be  scorned,  as  a  sound  mind  scorns  the  riot  of  that 
sin,  and  more  it  needs  not.  If  those  who  are  termed  rattleheads 
and  impuritans,  would  take  up  a  resolution  to  begin  in  moderation 
of  hair,  to  the  just  reproach  of  those  that  are  called  Puritans  and 
Roundheads,  I  would  honor  their  manliness  as  much  as  the  others' 
godliness,  so  long  as  I  knew  what  man  or  honor  meant :  if  neither 
can  find  a  barber's  shop,  let  them  turn  in,  to  Psal.  Ixviii.  21, 
Jer.  vii.  29,  I  Cor.  xi.  14.  If  it  be  thought  no  wisdom  in  men  to 
distinguish  themselves  in  the  field  by  the  scissors,  let  it  be  thought 
no  injustice  in  God,  not  to  distinguish  them  by  the  sword.  I  had 
rather  God  should  know  me  by  my  sobriety,  than  mine  enemy  not 
know  me  by  my  vanity.  He  is  ill  kept,  that  is  kept  by  his  own  sin. 
A  short  promise  is  a  far  safer  guard  than  a  long  lock  :  it  is  an  ill 
distinction  which  God  is  loath  to  look  at,  and  his  angels  can  not 
know  his  saints  by.  Though  it  be  not  the  mark  of  the  beast,  yet 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  33 

it  may  be  the  mark  of  a  beast  prepared  to  slaughter.  I  am  sure 
men  use  not  to  wear  such  names ;  I  am  also  sure  soldiers  use  to 
wear  other  marklets  or  notadoes  in  time  of  battle. 

IN   PRAISE   OF  ANNE  BRADSTREET 
PREFIXED  TO  "THE  TENTH  MUSE,"  1650 

Mercury  show'd  Apollo,  Bartas'  book, 

Minerva  this,  and  wish'd  him  well  to  look, 

And  tell  uprightly,  which  did  which  excel : 

He  view'd  and  view'd,  and  vow'd  he  could  not  tell. 

They  bid  him  hemisphere  his  mouldy  nose, 

With  's  crack'd  leering  glasses,  for  it  would  pose 

The  best  brains  he  had  in  's  old  pudding-pan, 

Sex  weigh 'd,  which  best,  the  woman  or  the  man  ? 

He  peer'd,  and  por'd,  and  glar'd,  and  said  for  wore, 

I'm  even  as  wise  now,  as  I  was  before. 

They  both  'gan  laugh,  and  said,  it  was  no  mar'l 

The  auth'ress  was  a  right  Du  Bartas  girl. 

Good  sooth,  quoth  the  old  Don,  tell  me  ye  so, 

I  muse  whither  at  length  these  girls  will  go. 

It  half  revives  my  chill  frost-bitten  blood, 

To  see  a  woman  once  do  aught  that 's  good ; 

And  chode  by  Chaucer's  boots  and  Homer's  furs, 

Let  men  look  to  't,  lest  women  wear  the  spurs. 


ANNE  BRADSTREET 

[Born  at  Northampton,  England,  1612;  died  at  Andover,  Massachusetts, 
September  16,  1672] 

THE   PROLOGUE 
FROM  "THE  TENTH  MUSE  LATELY  SPRUNG  UP  IN  AMERICA" 

To  sing  of  wars,  of  captains,  and  of  kings, 
Of  cities  founded,  commonwealths  begun, 

For  my  mean  pen  are  too  superior  things  : 

Or  how  they  all,  or  each,  their  dates  have  run, 


34  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Let  poets  and  historians  set  these  forth, 

My  obscure  lines  shall  not  so  dim  their  worth. 

But  when  my  wondering  eyes  and  envious  heart 
Great  Bartas'  sugared  lines  do  not  read  o'er, 

Fool  I  do  grudge  the  Muses  did  not  part 

'Twixt  him  and  me  that  ever  fluent  store  :  — 

A  Bartas  can  do  what  a  Bartas  will, 

But  simple  I  according  to  my  skill. 

From  school-boys'  tongue  no  rhetoric  we  expect, 
Not  yet  a  sweet  consort  from  broken  strings, 

Nor  perfect  beauty  where  's  a  main  defect : 
My  foolish,  broken,  blemished  Muse  so  sings : 

And  this  to  mend,  alas,  no  art  is  able, 

'Cause  nature  made  it  so  irreparable. 

Nor  can  I,  like  that  fluent,  sweet-tongued  Greek 
Who  lisped  at  first,  in  future  time -speak  plain  ; 

By  art  he  gladly  found  what  he  did  seek  — 
A  full  requital  of  his  striving  pain  ; 

Art  can  do  much,  but  this  maxim  's  most  sure : 

A  weak  or  wounded  brain  admits  no  cure. 

I  am  obnoxious  to  each  carping  tongue 
Who  says  my  hand  a  needle  better  tits ; 

A  poet's  pen  all  scorn  I  should  thus  wrong ; 
For  such  despite  they  cast  on  female  wits ; 

If  what  I  do  prove  well,  it  won't  advance  — 

They  '11  say  it 's  stolen,  or  else  it  was  by  chance. 

But  sure  the  antique  Greeks  were  far  more  mild, 
Else  of  our  sex  why  feigned  they  those  nine, 

And  Poesy  made  Calliope's  own  child  ? 

So  'mongst  the  rest  they  placed  the  Arts  Divine ; 

But  this  weak  knot  they  will  full  soon  untie  - 

The  Greeks  did  naught  but  play  the  fools  and  lie. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  35 

Let  Greeks  be  Greeks,  and  women  what  they  are. 

Men  have  precedency,  and  still  excel, 
It  is  but  vain  unjustly  to  wage  war : 

Men  can  do  best,  and  women  know  it  well ; 
Preeminence  in  all  and  each  is  yours  — 
Yet  grant  some  small  acknowledgment  of  ours. 

And  oh,  ye  high  flown  quills  that  soar  the  skies, 
And  ever  with  your  prey  still  catch  your  praise. 

If  e'er  you  deign  these  lowly  lines  your  eyes, 
Give  thyme  or  parsley  wreath  ;  I  ask  no  bays, 

This  mean  and  unrefined  ore  of  mine 

Will  make  you  glistering  gold,  but  more  to  shine.  ' 


OF  THE  FOUR  AGES   OF  MAN 

Lo,  now  four  other  act  upon  the  stage, 

Childhood  and  Youth,  the  Manly  and  Old  Age : 

The  first  son  unto  phlegm,  grandchild  to  water, 

Unstable,  supple,  cold  and  moist  's  his  nature. 

The  second,  frolic,  claims  his  pedigree 

From  blood  and  air,  for  hot  and  moist  is  he. 

The  third  of  fire  and  choler  is  compos'd, 

Vindicative  and  quarrelsome  dispos'd. 

The  last  of  earth  and  heavy  melancholy, 

Solid,  hating  all  lightness  and  all  folly. 

Childhood  was  cloth 'd  in  white  and  green  to  show 

His  spring  was  intermixed  with  some  snow : 

Upon  his  head  nature  a  garland  set 

Of  Primrose,  Daisy  and  the  Violet. 

Such  cold  mean  flowers  the  spring  puts  forth  betime, 

Before  the  sun  hath  throughly  heat  the  clime. 

His  hobby  striding  did  not  ride  but  run, 

And  in  his  hand  an  hour-glass  new  begun, 

In  danger  every  moment  of  a  fall, 

And  when  't  is  broke  then  ends  his  life  and  all : 


36  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But  if  he  hold  till  it  have  run  its  last, 

Then  may  he  live  out  threescore  years  or  past. 

Next  Youth  came  up  in  gorgeous  attire 

(As  that  fond  age  doth  most  of  all  desire), 

His  suit  of  crimson  and  his  scarf  of  green, 

His  pride  in  's  countenance  was  quickly  seen ; 

Garland  of  roses,  pinks  and  gillyflowers 

Seemed  on  's  head  to  grow  bedew'd  with  showers. 

His  face  as  fresh  as  is  Aurora  fair, 

When  blushing  she  first  'gins  to  light  the  air. 

No  wooden  horse,  but  one  of  mettle  tried, 

He  seems  to  fly  or  swim,  and  not  to  ride. 

Then  prancing  on  the  stage,  about  he  wheels, 

But  as  he  went  death  waited  at  his  heels. 

The  next  came  up  in  a  much  graver  sort, 

As  one  that  cared  for  a  good  report, 

His  sword  by  's  side,  and  choler  in  his  eyes, 

But  neither  us'd  as  yet,  for  he  was  wise  ; 

Of  Autumn's  fruits  a  basket  on  his  arm, 

His  golden  god  in  's  purse,  which  was  his  charm. 

And  last  of  all  to  act  upon  this  stage 

Leaning  upon  his  staff  came  up  Old  Age, 

Under  his  arm  a  sheaf  of  wheat  he  bore, 

An  harvest  of  the  best,  what  needs  he  more  ? 

In  's  other  hand  a  glass  ev'n  almost  run, 

Thus  writ  about :  "  This  out,  then  am  I  done." 


A  LOVE-LETTER  TO  HER  HUSBAND 
FROM  THE  EDITION  OF  1678 

Phoebus  make  haste,  the  day  's  too  long,  begone, 
The  silent  night  's  the  fittest  time  for  moan ; 
But  stay  this  once,  unto  my  suit  give  ear, 
And  tell  my  griefs  in  either  Hemisphere  : 
(And  if  the  whirling  of  thy  wheels  don't  drown'd 
The  woful  accents  of  my  doleful  sound), 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  37 

If  in  thy  swift  career  thou  canst  make  stay, 

I  crave  this  boon,  this  errand  by  the  way  : 

Commend  me  to  the  man  more  lov'd  than  life, 

Show  him  the  sorrows  of  his  widow'd  wife, 

My  dumpish  thoughts,  my  groans,  my  brackish  tears, 

My  sobs,  my  longing  hopes,  my  doubting  fears, 

And,  if  he  love,  how  can  he  there  abide  ? 

My  interest  's  more  than  all  the  world  beside. 

He  that  can  tell  the  stars  or  Ocean  sand, 

Or  all  the  grass  that  in  the  meads  do  stand, 

The  leaves  in  th'  woods,  the  hail  or  drops  of  rain, 

Or  in  a  cornfield  number  every  grain, 

Or  every  mote  that  in  the  sunshine  hops, 

May  count  my  sighs  and  number  all  my  drops. 

Tell  him,  the  countless  steps  that  thou  dost  trace, 

That  once  a  day  thy  spouse  thou  mayst  embrace ; 

And  when  thou  canst  not  treat  by  loving  mouth, 

Thy  rays  afar,  salute  her  from  the  south. 

But  for  one  month  I  see  no  day  (poor  soul) 

Like  those  far  situate  under  the  pole, 

Which  day  by  day  long  wait  for  thy  arise, 

O  how  they  joy  when  thou  dost  light  the  skies. 

O  Phoebus,  hadst  thou  but  thus  long  from  thine 

Restrain 'd  the  beams  of  thy  beloved  shine, 

At  thy  return,  if  so  thou  couldst  or  durst, 

Behold  a  Chaos  blacker  than  the  first. 

Tell  him  here  's  worse  than  a  confused  matter, 

His  little  world  's  a  fathom  under  water, 

Naught  but  the  fervor  of  his  ardent  beams 

Hath  power  to  dry  the  torrent  of  these  streams. 

Tell  him  I  would  say  more,  but  cannot  well, 

Opressed  minds  abruptest  tales  do  tell. 

Now  post  with  double  speed,  mark  what  I  say, 

By  all  our  loves  conjure  him  not  to  stay. 


38  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  AUTHOR  TO  HER  BOOK 

Thou  ill-formed  offspring  of  my  feeble  brain, 

Who  after  birth  didst  by  my  side  remain 

Till  snatched  from  thence  by  friends  less  wise  than  true 

Who  thee  abroad  exposed  to  public  view, 

Made  thee,  in  rags,  halting,  to  the  press  to  trudge, 

Where  errors  were  not  lessened,  all  may  judge, 

At  thy  return  my  blushing  was  not  small, 

My  rambling  brat  —  in  print  —  should  mother  call. 

I  cast  thee  by  as  one  unfit  for  light, 

Thy  visage  was  so  irksome  in  my  sight ; 

Yet  being  mine  own,  at  length  affection  would 

Thy  blemishes  amend,  if  so  I  could. 

I  washed  thy  face,  but  more  defects  I  saw, 

And  rubbing  off  a  spot  still  made  a  flaw. 

I  stretched  thy  joints  to  make  thee  even  feet, 

Yet  still  thou  run'st  more  hobbling  than  is  meet. 

In  better  dress  to  trim  thee  was  my  mind, 

But  naught  save  homespun  cloth  i'  th'  house  I  find. 

In  this  array  'mongst  vulgars  mayst  thou  roam, 

In  critics'  hands  beware  thou  dost  not  come, 

And  take  thy  way  where  yet  thou  art  not  known. 

If  for  thy  father  asked,  say  thou  hadst  none ; 

And  for  thy  mother,  she,  alas,  is  poor, 

Which  caused  her  thus  to  send  thee  out  of  door. 


FOR  THE  RESTORATION  OF  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND  FROM 
A  BURNING  AGUE,  JUNE,  1661 

When  fears  and  sorrows  me  beset, 

Then  didst  thou  rid  me  out ; 
When  heart  did  faint  and  spirits  quail, 

Thou  comforts  me  about. 

Thou  rais'st  him  up  I  feared  to  lose, 
Regav'st  me  him  again  ; 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  39 

Distempers  thou  didst  chase  away, 
With  strength  didst  him  sustain. 

My  thankful  heart,  with  pen  record 

The  goodness  of  thy  God  : 
Let  thy  obedience  testify 

He  taught  thee  by  his  rod, 

And  with  his  staff  did  thee  support, 

That  thou  by  both  mayst  learn, 
And  'twixt  the  good  and  evil  way 

At  last  thou  might'st  discern. 

Praises  to  him  who  hath  not  left 

My  soul  as  destitute, 
Nor  turned  his  ear  away  from  me, 

But  granted  hath  my  suit. 


EDWARD  JOHNSON 

[Born  at  Herne  Hill,  Kent,  England,  about  1 599 ;  died  at  Woburn, 
Massachusetts,  April  23,  1672] 

OF  THE  FIRST  PREPARATION  OF  THE  MERCHANT  ADVEN 
TURERS  IN  THE  MASSACHUSETTS 

FROM   THE  "  WONDER-WORKING    PROVIDENCE,"   LONDON,   1654,   CHAP.    IX 

...  At  the  place  of  their  abode  they  began  to  build  a  Town, 
which  is  called  Salem,  after  some  little  space  of  time  having  made 
trial  of  the  sordid  spirits  of  the  neighboring  Indians,  the  most  bold 
among  them  began  to  gather  to  divers  places,  which  they  began  to 
take  up  for  their  own ;  those  that  were  sent  over  servants,  having 
itching  desires  after  novelties,  found  a  readier  way  to  make  an  end 
of  their  masters'  provisions,  than  they  could  find  means  to  get  more. 
They  that  came  over  their  own  men  had  but  little  left  to  feed  on, 
and  most  began  to  repent  when  their  strong  beer  and  full  cups  ran 
as  small  as  water  in  a  large  land,  but  little  corn,  and  the  poor  Indians 


40          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

so  far  from  relieving  them,  that  they  were  forced  to  lengthen  out 
their  own  food  with  acorns,  and  that  which  added  to  their  present 
distracted  thoughts,  the  ditch  between  England 'and  their  now  place 
of  abode  was  so  wide,  that  they  could  not  leap  over  with  a  lope-staff, 
yet  some  delighting  their  eye  with  the  rarity  of  things  present,  and 
feeding  their  fancies  with  new  discoveries  at  the  Spring's  approach, 
they  made  shift  to  rub  out  the  Winter's  cold  by  the  fire-side,  having 
fuel  enough  growing  at  their  doors,  turning  down  many  a  drop  of  the 
bottle,  and  burning  tobacco  with  all  the  ease  they  could,  discoursing 
between  one  while  and  another,  of  the  great  progress  they  would 
make  after  the  Summer's-sun  had  changed  the  earths  white  furr'd 
gown  into  a  green  mantel. 

OF  THE  FIRST  PROMOTION  OF  LEARNING  IN  NEW  ENG 
LAND  AND  THE  EXTRAORDINARY  PROVIDENCES  THAT 
THE  LORD  WAS  PLEASED  TO  SEND  FOR  FURTHERING  OF 

THE    SAME 

FROM  BOOK  II,  CHAP.  XIX 

Toward  the  latter  end  of  this  summer  came  over  the  learned, 
reverend,  and  judicious  Mr.  Henry  Dunster,  before  whose  coming 
the  Lord  was  pleased  to  provide  a  patron  for  erecting  a  college, 
as  you  have  formerly  heard,  his  provident  hand  being  now  no  less 
powerful  in  pointing  out  with  his  unerring  finger  a  president  abun 
dantly  fitted,  this  his  servant,  and  sent  him  over  for  to  manage  the 
work.  And  as  in  all  the  other  passages  of  this  history  the  Wonder 
working  Providence  of  S ion's  Saviour  hath  appeared,  so  more  espe 
cially  in  this  work,  the  fountains  of  learning  being  in  a  great  measure 
stopped  in  our  native  country  at  this  time,  so  that  the  sweet  waters 
of  Shilo's  streams  must  ordinarily  pass  into  the  churches  through 
the  stinking  channel  of  prelatical  pride,  beside  all  the  filth  that  the 
fountains  themselves  were  daily  encumbered  withal,  insomuch  that 
the  Lord  turned  aside  often  from  them,  and  refused  the  breathings 
of  his  blessed  Spirit  among  them,  which  caused  Satan  (in  these  latter 
days  of  his  transformation  into  an  angel  of  light)  to  make  it  a  means 
to  persuade  people  from  the  use  of  learning  altogether,  that  so  in 
the  next  generation  they  might  be  destitute  of  such  helps  as  the 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  41 

Lord  hath  been  pleased  hitherto  to  make  use  of,  as  chief  means  for 
the  conversion  of  his  people  and  building  them  up  in  the  holy  faith, 
as  also  for  breaking  down  the  Kingdom  of  Antichrist.  And  verily 
had  not  the  Lord  been  pleased  to  furnish  New  England  with  means 
for  the  attainment  of  learning,  the  work  would  have  been  carried 
on  very  heavily,  and  the  hearts  of  godly  parents  would  have  vanished 
away  with  heaviness  for  their  poor  children,  whom  they  must  have 
left  in  a  desolate  wilderness,  destitute  of  the  means  of  grace. 

It  being  a  work  (in  the  apprehension  of  all  whose  capacity  could 
reach  to  the  great  sums  of  money  the  edifice  of  a  mean  college  would 
cost)  past  the  reach  of  a  poor  pilgrim  people,  who  had  expended  the 
greatest  part  of  their  estates  on  a  long  voyage,  travelling  into  foreign 
countries  being  unprofitable  to  any  that  have  undertaken  it,  although 
it  were  but  with  their  necessary  attendance,  whereas  this  people  were 
forced  to  travel  with  wives,  children,  and  servants ;  besides  they  con 
sidered  the  treble  charge  of  building  in  this  new  populated  desert, 
in  regard  of  all  kind  of  workmanship,  knowing  likewise,  that  young 
students  could  make  up  a  poor  progress  in  learning,  by  looking  on 
the  bare  walls  of  their  chambers,  and  that  Diogenes  would  have  the 
better  of  them  by  far,  in  making  use  of  a  tun  to  lodge  in ;  not  being 
ignorant  also,  that  many  people  in  this  age  are  out  of  conceit  with 
learning,  and  that  although  they  were  not  among  a  people  who 
counted  ignorance  the  mother  of  devotion,  yet  were  the  greater 
part  of  the  people  wholly  devoted  to  the  plough  (but  to  speak  up 
rightly,  hunger  is  sharp,  and  the  head  will  retain  little  learning,  if 
the  heart  be  not  refreshed  in  some  competent  measure  with  food, 
although  the  gross  vapors  of  a  glutted  stomach  are  the  bane  of  a 
bright  understanding,  and  brings  barrenness  to  the  brain).  But  how 
to  have  both  go  on  together,  as  yet  they  know  not.  Amidst  all  these 
difficulties,  it  was  thought  meet  learning  should  plead  for  itself,  and 
(as  many  other  men  of  good  rank  and  quality  in  this  barren  desert) 
plot  out  a  way  to  live.  Hereupon  all  those  who  had  tasted  the  sweet 
wine  of  Wisdom's  drawing,  and  fed  on  the  dainties  of  knowledge, 
began  to  set  their  wits  a  work,  and  verily  as  the  whole  progress  of 
this  work  had  a  farther  dependency  than  on  the  present-eyed  means, 
so  at  this  time  chiefly  the  end  being  firmly  fixed  on  a  sure  founda 
tion,  namely,  the  glory  of  God  and  good  of  all  his  elect  people  the 


42  READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

world  throughout,  in  vindicating  the  truths  of  Christ  and  promoting 
his  glorious  Kingdom,  who  is  now  taking  the  heathen  for  his  inheri 
tance  and  the  utmost  ends  of  the  earth  for  his  possession,  means 
they  know  there  are,  many  thousand  uneyed  of  mortal  man,  which 
every  day's  Providence  brings  forth. 

Upon  these  resolutions,  to  work  they  go,  and  with  thankful  ac 
knowledgment  readily  take  up  all  lawful  means  as  they  come  to 
hand.  For  place  they  fix  their  eye  upon  New-Town,  which  to  tell 
their  posterity  whence  they  came,  is  now  named  Cambridge.  And 
withal  to  make  the  whole  world  understand  that  spiritual  learning 
was  the  thing  they  chiefly  desired,  to  sanctify  the  other  and  make 
the  whole  lump  holy,  and  that  learning  being  set  upon  its  right 
object  might  not  contend  for  error  instead  of  truth,  they  chose  this 
place,  being  then  under  the  orthodox  and  soul-flourishing  ministry 
of  Mr.  Thomas  Shepard,  of  whom  it  may  be  said,  without  any 
wrong  to  others,  the  Lord  by  his  Ministry  hath  saved  many  a  hun 
dred  soul.  The  situation  of  this  College  is  very  pleasant,  at  the 
end  of  a  spacious  plain,  more  like  a  bowling-green  than  a  wilder 
ness,  near  a  fair  navigable  river,  environed  with  many  neighboring 
towns  of  note,  being  so  near,  that  their  houses  join  with  her  sub 
urbs.  The  building  thought  by  some  to  be  too  gorgeous  for  a  wil 
derness,  and  yet  too  mean  in  others'  apprehensions  for  a  college, 
it  is  at  present  enlarging  by  purchase  of  the  neighbor  houses.  It 
hath  the  conveniences  of  a  fair  hall,  comfortable  studies,  and  a 
good  library,  given  by  the  liberal  hand  of  some  magistrates  and 
ministers,  with  others.  The  chief  gift  towards  the  founding  of  this 
college  was  by  Mr.  John  Harvard,  a  reverend  minister ;  the  country, 
being  very  weak  in  their  public  treasury,  expended  about  ,£500 
towards  it,  and  for  the  maintenance  thereof,  gave  the  yearly  rev 
enue  of  a  ferry  passage  between  Boston  and  Charles-Town,  the 
which  amounts  to  about  ^40  or  .£50  per  annum.  The  commis 
sioners  of  the  four  united  colonies  also  taking  into  consideration 
of  what  common  concernment  this  work  would  be,  not  only  to  the 
whole  plantations  in  general,  but  also  to  all  our  English  Nation, 
they  endeavored  to  stir  up  all  the  people  in  the  several  colonies 
to  make  a  yearly  contribution  toward  it,  which  by  some  is  ob 
served,  but  by  the  most  very  much  neglected.  The  government 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  43 

hath  endeavored  to  grant  them  all  the  privileges  fit  for  a  college, 
and  accordingly  the  Governor  and  magistrates,  together  with  the 
President  of  the  College  for  the  time  being,  have  a  continual  care 
of  ordering  all  matters  for  the  good  of  the  whole. 

This  college  hath  brought  forth  and  nurst  up  very  hopeful 
plants,  to  the  supplying  some  churches  here,  as  the  gracious  and 
godly  Mr.  Wilson,  son  to  the  grave  and  zealous  servant  of  Christ, 
Mr.  John  Wilson;  this  young  man  is  pastor  to  the  Church  of  Christ 
at  Dorchester;  as  also  Mr.  Buckly,  son  to  the  reverend  Mr.  Buckly, 
of  Concord ;  as  also  a  second  son  of  his,  whom  our  native  country- 
hath  now  at  present  help  in  the  ministry,  and  the  other  is  over  a 
people  of  Christ  in  one  of  these  Colonies,  and  if  I  mistake  not, 
England  hath  I  hope  not  only  this  young  man  of  New  England 
nurturing  up  in  learning,  but  many  more,  as  Mr.  Sam.  and  Na 
thaniel  Mathers,  Mr.  Wells,  Mr.  Downing,  Mr.  Barnard,  Mr.  Allin, 
Mr.  Brewster,  Mr.  William  Ames,  Mr.  Jones.  Another  of  the 
first-fruits  of  this  college  is  employed  in  these  western  parts  in 
Mevis,  one  of  the  Summer  Islands ;  besides  these  named,  some 
help  hath  been  had  from  hence  in  the  study  of  physic,  as  also  the 
godly  Mr.  Sam.  Danforth,  who  hath  not  only  studied  divinity,  but 
also  astronomy ;  he  put  forth  many  almanacs,  and  is  now  called 
to  the  office  of  a  teaching  elder  in  the  Church  of  Christ  at  Rox- 
bury,  who  was  one  of  the  fellows  of  this  College.  The  number  of 
students  is  much  increased  of  late,  so  that  the  present  year,  1651, 
on  the  twelfth  of  the  sixth  month,  ten  of  them  took  the  degree  of 
Bachelors  of  Art,  among  whom  the  Sea-born  son  of  Mr.  John 
Cotton  was  one. 


44          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


JOHN   ELIOT 

[Born  at  Nasing,  Essex,  England,  1604;  died  at  Roxbury,  Massachusetts, 

May  20,  1690] 

SCANDAL  AMONG  THE  CONVERTS 
FROM  "A  LATE  AND* FURTHER  MANIFESTATION  OF  THE  PROGRESS  OF 

THE  GOSPEL  AMONG  THE   INDIANS  IN  NEW  ENGLAND  " 

DECLARING  THEIR  CONSTANT  LOVE  AND  ZEAL  TO  THE 
TRUTH  WITH  A  READINESS  TO  GIVE  ACCOUNT  OF  THEIR 
FAITH  AND  HOPE  AS  OF  THEIR  DESIRES  IN  CHURCH  COM 
MUNION  TO  BE  PARTAKERS  OF  THE  ORDINANCES  OF  CHRIST, 
BEING  A  NARRATIVE  OF  THE  EXAMINATION  OF  THE  INDIANS 
ABOUT  THEIR  KNOWLEDGE  IN  RELIGION  BY  THE  ELDERS  OF 
THE  CHURCHES.  RELATED  BY  MR.  JOHN  ELIOT,  PUBLISHED 
BY  THE  CORPORATION,  ESTABLISHED  BY  ACT  OF  PARLIAMENT 
FOR  PROPAGATING  THE  GOSPEL  THERE.  [LONDON,  1655] 

There  fell  out  a  very  great  discouragement  a  little  before  the 
time,  which  might  have  been  a  scandal  unto  them,  and  I  doubt 
not  but  Satan  intended  it  so ;  but  the  Lord  improved  it  to  stir  up 
faith  and  prayer,  and  so  turned  it  another  way.  Thus  it  was :  Three 
of  the  unsound  sort  of  such  as  are  among  them  that  pray  unto 
God,  who  are  hemmed  in  by  relations,  and  other  means,  to  do 
that  which  their  hearts  love  not,  and  whose  vices  Satan  improveth 
to  scandalize  and  reproach  the  better  sort  withal ;  while  many,  and 
some  good  people  are  too  ready  to  say  they  are  all  alike.  I  say 
three  of  them  had  gotten  several  quarts  of  strong  water  (which 
sundry  out  of  a  greedy  desire  of  a  little  gain,  are  too  ready  to  sell 
unto  them,  to  the  offence  and  grief  of  the  better  sort  of  Indians, 
and  of  the  godly  English  too),  and  with  these  liquors,  did  not  only 
make  themselves  drunk,  but  got  a  child  of  eleven  years  of  age,  the 
son  of  Toteswamp,  whom  his  father  had  sent  for  a  little  corn  and 
fish  to  that  place  near  Watertowne,  where  they  were.  Unto  this 
child  they  first  gave  two  spoonfuls  of  strongwater,  which  was  more 
than  his  head  could  bear ;  and  another  of  them  put  a  bottle,  or 
such  like  vessel  to  his  mouth,  and  caused  him  to  drink  till  he  was 
very  drunk ;  and  then  one  of  them  domineered,  and  said,  "  Now 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  45 

we  will  see  whether  your  father  will  punish  us  for  drunkenness 
(for  he  is  a  ruler  among  them)  seeing  you  are  drunk  with  us  for 
company ;  "  and  in  this  case  lay  the  child  abroad  all  night.  They 
also  fought,  and  had  been  several  times  punished  formerly  for 
drunkenness. 

When  Toteswamp  heard  of  this,  it  was  a  great  shame  and  break 
ing  of  heart  unto  him,  and  he  knew  not  what  to  do.  The  rest  of  the 
rulers  with  him  considered  of  the  matter,  they  found  a  complication 
of  many  sins  together. 

1 .  The  sin  of  drunkenness,  and  that  after  many  former  punish 
ments  for  the  same. 

2.  A  wilful  making  of  the  child  drunk,  and  exposing  him  to 
danger  also. 

3.  A  degree  of  reproaching  the  rulers. 

4.  Fighting. 

Word  was  brought  to  me  of  it,  a  little  before  I  took  horse  to  go  to 
Natick  to  keep  the  Sabbath  with  them,  being  about  ten  days  before 
the  appointed  meeting.  The  tidings  sunk  my  spirit  extremely,  I 
did  judge  it  to  be  the  greatest  frown  of  God  that  ever  I  met  withal 
in  the  work,  I  could  read  nothing  in  it  but  displeasure,  I  began  to 
doubt  about  our  intended  work  :  I  knew  not  what  to  do,  the  black 
ness  of  the  sins,  and  the  persons  reflected  on,  made  my  very  heart 
fail  me.  For  one  of  the  offenders  (though  least  in  the  offence)  wras 
he  that  hath  been  my  interpreter,  whom  I  have  used  in  translating 
a  good  part  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  ;  and  in  that  respect  I  saw 
much  of  Satan's  venom,  and  in  God  I  saw  displeasure.  For  this 
and  some  other  acts  of  apostasy  at  this  time,  I  had  thoughts  of 
casting  him  off  from  that  work,  yet  now  the  Lord  hath  found  a 
way  to  humble  him.  But  his  apostasy  at  this  time  was  a  great  trial, 
and  I  did  lay  him  by  for  that  day  of  our  examination,  I  used  an 
other  in  his  room.  Thus  Satan  aimed  at  me  in  this  their  miscarry 
ing  ;  and  Toteswamp  is  a  principal  man  in  the  work,  as  you  shall 
have  occasion  to  see  anon,  God  willing. 

By  some  occasion  our  ruling  elder  and  I  being  together,  I  opened 
the  case  unto  him,  and  the  Lord  guided  him  to  speak  some  gracious 
words  of  encouragement  unto  me,  by  which  the  Lord  did  relieve 
my  spirit ;  and  so  I  committed  the  matter  and  issue  unto  the  Lord, 


46          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

to  do  what  pleased  him,  and  in  so  doing  my  soul  was  quiet  in  the 
Lord.  I  went  on  my  journey  being  the  sixth  day  of  the  week ; 
when  I  came  at  Natick,  the  rulers  had  then  a  court  about  it.  Soon 
after  I  came  there,  the  rulers  came  to  me  with  a  question  about 
this  matter,  they  related  the  whole  business  unto  me,  with  much 
trouble  and  grief. 

Then  Toteswamp  spake  to  this  purpose,  "  I  am  greatly  grieved 
about  these  things,  and  now  God  trieth  me  whether  I  love  Christ 
or  my  child  best.  They  say  they  will  try  me ;  but  I  say  God  will 
try  me.  Christ  saith,  He  that  loveth  father,  or  mother,  or  wife,  or 
child,  better  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me.  Christ  saith,  I  must 
correct  my  child,  if  I  should  refuse  to  do  that,  I  should  not  love 
Christ.  God  bid  Abraham  kill  his  son,  Abraham  loved  God,  and 
therefore  he  would  have  done  it,  had  not  God  withheld  him.  God 
saith  to  me,  only  punish  your  child,  and  how  can  I  love  God,  if  I 
should  refuse  to  do  that  ?  "  These  things  he  spake  in  more  words, 
and  much  affection,  and  not  with  dry  eyes.  Nor  could  I  refrain 
from  tears  to  hear  him.  When  it  was  said,  The  child  was  not  so 
guilty  of  the  sin,  as  those  that  made  him  drunk ;  he  said,  that  he 
was  guilty  of  sin,  in  that  he  feared  not  sin,  and  in  that  he  did  not 
believe  his  councils  that  he  had  often  given  him,  to  take  heed  of 
evil  company ;  but  he  had  believed  Satan  and  sinners  more  than 
him,  therefore  he  needed  to  be  punished.  After  other  such  like 
discourse,  the  rulers  left  me,  and  went  unto  their  business,  which 
they  were  about  before  I  came,  which  they  did  bring  unto  this 
conclusion  and  judgment,  They  judged  the  three  men  to  sit  in  the 
stocks  a  good  space  of  time,  and  thence  to  be  brought  to  the 
whipping-post,  and  have  each  of  them  twenty  lashes.  The  boy  to 
be  put  in  the  stocks  a  little  while,  and  the  next  day  his  father 
was  to  whip  him  in  the  school,  before  the  children  there ;  all  which 
judgment  was  executed.  When  they  came  to  be  whipped,  the  con 
stable  fetched  them  one  after  another  to  the  tree  (which  they  make 
use  of  instead  of  a  post)  where  they  all  received  their  punishments : 
which  done,  the  rulers  spake  thus,  one  of  them  said,  "The  punish 
ments  for  sin  are  the  Commandments  of  God,  and  the  work  of 
God,  and  his  end  was,  to  do  them  good,  and  bring  them  to  repent 
ance."  And  upon  that  ground  he  did  in  more  words  exhort  them 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  47 

to  repentance,  and  amendment  of  life.  When  he  had  done,  another 
spake  unto  them  to  this  purpose,  "  You  are  taught  in  catechism, 
that  the  wages  of  sin  are  all  miseries  and  calamities  in  this  life,  and 
also  death  and  eternal  damnation  in  hell.  Now  you  feel  some  smart 
as  the  fruit  of  your  sin,  and  this  is  to  bring  you  to  repentance,  that 
so  you  may  escape  the  rest."  And  in  more  words  he  exhorted  them 
to  repentance.  When  he  had  done,  another  spake  to  this  purpose, 
"  Hear  all  ye  people  "  (turning  himself  to  the  people  who  stood 
round  about,  I  think  not  less  than  two  hundred,  small  and  great) 
"  this  is  the  commandment  of  the  Lord,  that  thus  it  should  be  done 
unto  sinners ;  and  therefore  let  all  take  warning  by  this,  that  you 
commit  not  such  sins,  lest  you  incur  these  punishments."  And 
with  more  words  he  exhorted  the  people.  Others  of  the  rulers 
spake  also,  but  some  things  spoken  I  understood  not,  and  some 
things  slipped  from  me.  But  these  which  I  have  related  remained 
with  me. 

When  I  returned  to  Roxbury,  I  related  these  things  to  our  elder, 
to  whom  I  had  before  related  the  sin,  and  my  grief  :  who  was  much 
affected  to  hear  it,  and  magnified  God.  He  said  also,  That  their 
sin  was  but  a  transient  act,  which  had  no  rule,  and  would  vanish. 
But  these  judgments  were  an  ordinance  of  God,  and  would  remain, 
and  do  more  good  every  way,  than  their  sin  could  do  hurt,  telling 
me  what  cause  I  had  to  be  thankful  for  such  an  issue.  Which  I 
therefore  relate,  because  the  Lord  did  speak  to  my  heart,  in  this 
exigent,  by  his  words. 


MICHAEL  WIGGLESWORTH 

[Born  in  England,  1631  ;  died  at  Maiden,  Massachusetts,  June  10,  1705] 

THE  DAY  OF  DOOM 
INTRODUCTION:   TO  THE  CHRISTIAN  READER 

Reader,  I  am  a  fool 

And  have  adventured 

To  play  the  fool  this  once  for  Christ, 

The  more  his  fame  to  spread. 


READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

If  this  my  foolishness 
Help  thee  to  be  more  wise, 
I  have  attained  what  I  seek, 
And  what  I  only  prize. 

Thou  wonderest,  perhaps, 

That  I  in  print  appear, 

Who  to  the  pulpit  dwell  so  nigh, 

Yet  come  so  seldom  there. 

The  God  of  Heaven  knows 

What  grief  to  me  it  is, 

To  be  withheld  from  serving  Christ ; 

No  sorrow  like  to  this. 

This  is  the  sorest  pain 

That  I  have  felt  or  feel ; 

Yet  have  I  stood  some  shocks  that  might 

Make  stronger  men  to  reel. 

I  find  more  true  delight 

In  serving  of  the  Lord, 

Than  all  the  good  things  upon  Earth, 

Without  it,  can  afford. 

And  could  my  strength  endure 
That  work  I  count  so  dear, 
Not  all  the  riches  of  Peru 
Should  hire  me  to  forbear. 
But  I'm  a  prisoner, 
Under  a  heavy  chain  ; 
Almighty  God's  afflicting  hand 
Doth  me  by  force  restrain. 

Yet  some  (/  know]  do  judge 

Mine  inability 

To  come  abroad  and  do  Christ's  work. 

To  be  melancholy  ; 

And  that  I'm  not  so  weak 

As  I  myself  conceit ; 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  49 

But  who  in  other  things  have  found 
Me  so  conceited  yet  ? 

Or  who  of  all  my  friends 
That  have  my  trials  seen, 
Can  tell  the  time  in  seven  years 
When  I  have  dumpish  been  ? 
Some  think  my  voice  is  strong, 
Most  times  when  I  do  preach ; 
But  ten  days  after,  what  I  feel 
And  suffer  few  can  reach. 

My  prison  'd  thoughts  break  forth, 
When  open'd  is  the  door, 
With  greater  force  and  violence, 
And  strain  my  voice  the  more. 
But  vainly  do  they  tell 
That  I  am  growing  stronger, 
Who  hear  me  speak  in  half  an  hour. 
Till  I  can  speak  no  longer. 

Some  for  because  they  see  not 

My  cheerfulness  to  fail, 

Nor  that  I  am  disconsolate, 

Do  think  I  nothing  ail. 

If  they  had  borne  my  griefs, 

Their  courage  might  have  fail'd  them, 

And  all  the  town  (perhaps)  have  known 

(Once  and  again)  what  ail'd  them. 

But  why  should  I  complain 

That  have  so  good  a  God, 

That  doth  mine  heart  with  comfort  fill 

Ev'n  whilst  I  feel  his  rod  ? 

In  God  I  have  been  strong, 

But  wearied  and  worn  out, 

And  joy'd  in  him,  when  twenty  woes 

Assail'd  me  round  about. 


50  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Nor  speak  I  this  to  boast, 

But  make  apology 

For  mine  own  self,  and  answer  those 

That  fail  in  charity. 

I  am,  alas  !  as  frail, 

Impatient  a  creature, 

As  most  that  tread  upon  the  ground, 

And  have  as  bad  a  nature. 

Let  God  be  magnified, 
Whose  everlasting  strength 
Upholds  me  under  sufferings 
Of  more  than  ten  years'  length ; 
Through  whose  Almighty  pow'r, 
Although  I  am  surrounded 
With  sorrows  more  than  can  be  told, 
Yet  am  I  not  confounded. 

For  his  dear  sake  have  I 

This  service  undertaken, 

For  I  am  bound  to  honor  him 

Who  hath  not  me  forsaken. 

I  am  a  debtor,  too, 

Unto  the  sons  of  men, 

Whom,  wanting  other  means,  I  would 

Advantage  with  my  pen. 

I  would,  but  ah  !  my  strength, 
When  tried,  proves  so  small, 
That  to  the  ground  without  effect 
My  wishes  often  fall. 
Weak  heads,  and  hands,  and  states, 
Great  things  cannot  produce  ; 
And  therefore  I  this  little  piece 
Have  publish 'd  for  thine  use. 

Although  the  thing  be  small, 
Yet  my  good  will  therein 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  51 

Is  nothing  less  than  if  it  had 

A  larger  volume  been. 

Accept  it  then  in  love, 

And  read  it  for  thy  good ; 

There's  nothing  in't  can  do  thee  hurt, 

If  rightly  understood. 

The  God  of  Heaven  grant 

These  lines  so  well  to  speed, 

That  thou  the  things  of  thine  own  peace 

Through  them  may'st  better  heed  ; 

And  may'st  be  stirred  up 

To  stand  upon  thy  guard, 

That  Death  and  Judgment  may  not  come 

To  find  thee  unprepar'd. 

Oh,  get  a  part  in  Christ, 

And  make  the  Judge  thy  friend ; 

So  shalt  thou  be  assured  of 

A  happy,  glorious  end. 

Thus  prays  thy  real  friend 

And  servant  for  Christ's  sake, 

Who,  had  he  strength,  would  not  refuse 

More  pains  for  thee  to  take. 


THE  BURWELL  PAPERS 

BACON'S  DEATH 

AN  ANONYMOUS  "  HISTORY  OF  BACON'S  AND  INGRAM'S  REBELLION,"  FIRST 
PRINTED  BY  THE  MASSACHUSETTS  HISTORICAL  SOCIETY,  1814 

Bacon  having  for  some  time  been  besieged  by  sickness,  and  now 
not  able  to  hold  out  any  longer,  all  his  strength  and  provisions  be 
ing  spent,  surrendered  up  that  fort  he  was  no  longer  able  to  keep, 
into  the  hands  of  that  grim  and  all-conquering  captain,  Death,  after 
that  he  had  implored  the  assistance  of  the  above-mentioned  minister, 
for  the  well  making  his  articles  of  rendition.  The  only  religious 


52  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

duty  (as  they  say)  he  was  observed  to  perform  during  these  intrigues 
of  affairs,  in  which  he  was  so  considerable  an  actor,  and  so  much 
concerned,  that  rather  than  he  would  decline  the  cause,  he  became 
so  deeply  engaged  in  the  first  rise  thereof,  though  much  urged  by 
arguments  of  dehortations  by  his  nearest  relations  and  best  friends, 
that  he  subjected  himself  to  all  those  inconveniences  that,  singly, 
might  bring  a  man  of  a  more  robust  frame  to  his  last  home.  After 
he  was  dead  he  was  bemoaned  in  these  following  lines  (drawn  by  the 
man  that  waited  upon  his  person,  as  it  is  said),  and  who  attended 
his  corpse  to  their  burial  place,  but  where  deposited  till  the  general 
day,  not  known,  only  to  those  who  are  resolutely  silent  in  that  par 
ticular.  There  was  many  copies  of  verses  made  after  his  departure, 
calculated  to  the  latitude  of  their  affections  who  composed  them ; 
as  a  relish  taken  from  both  appetites  I  have  here  sent  you  a  couple : 

BACON'S  EPITAPH,  MADE  BY  HIS  MAN 

Death,  why  so  cruel  ?   What !  no  other  way 
To  manifest  thy  spleen,  but  thus  to  slay 
Our  hopes  of  safety,  liberty,  our  all, 
Which,  through  thy  tyranny,  with  him  must  fall 
To  its  late  chaos  ?    Had  thy  rigid  force 
Been  dealt  by  retail,  and  not  thus  in  gross, 
Grief  had  been  silent.    Now  we  must  complain, 
Since  thou,  in  him,  hast  more  than  thousand  slain, 
Whose  lives  and  safeties  did  so  much  depend 
On  him  their  life,  with  him  their  lives  must  end. 

If  't  be  a  sin  to  think  Death  brib'd  can  be 
We  must  be  guilty  ;  say  't  was  bribery 
Guided  the  fatal  shaft.    Virginia's  foes, 
To  whom  for  secret  crimes  just  vengeance  owes 
Deserved  plagues,  dreading  their  just  desert, 
Corrupted  Death  by  Paracelsian  art 
Him  to  destroy ;  whose  well  tried  courage  such, 
Their  heartless  hearts,  nor  arms,  nor  strength  could  touch. 

Who  now  must  heal  those  wounds,  or  stop  that  blood 
The  Heathen  made,  and  drew  into  a  flood  ? 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  53 

Who  is  't  must  plead  our  cause  ?  nor  trump,  nor  drum 

Nor  Deputation  ;  these,  alas  !  are  dumb 

And  cannot  speak.    Our  Arms  (though  ne'er  so  strong) 

Will  want  the  aid  of  his  commanding  tongue, 

Which  conquer'd  more  than  Caesar.    He  o'erthrew 

Only  the  outward  frame  :  this  could  subdue 

The  rugged  works  of  nature.    Souls  replete 

With  dull  chill  cold,  he'd  animate  with  heat 

Drawn  forth  of  reason's  limbec.    In  a  word, 

Mars  and  Minerva  both  in  him  concurred 

For  arts,  for  arms,  whose  pen  and  sword  alike 

As  Cato's  did,  may  admiration  strike 

Into  his  foes  ;  while  they  confess  withal 

It  was  their  guilt  styl'd  him  a  criminal. 

Only  this  difference  does  from  truth  proceed : 

They  in  the  guilt,  he  in  the  name  must  bleed. 

While  none  shall  dare  his  obsequies  to  sing 

In  deserv'd  measures  ;  until  time  shall  bring 

Truth  crown 'd  with  freedom,  and  from  danger  free 

To  sound  his  praises  to  posterity. 

Here  let  him  rest ;  while  we  this  truth  report 
He's  gone  from  hence  unto  a  higher  Court 
To  plead  his  cause,  where  he  by  this  doth  know 
Whether  to  Caesar  he  was  friend,  or  foe. 

LOVEWELL'S  FIGHT 
A  POPULAR  BALLAD  WRITTEN  SHORTLY  AFTER  THE  BATTLE  OF  MAY  8, 1 725 

Of  worthy  Captain  Lovewell,  I  purpose  now  to  sing, 
How  valiantly  he  served  his  country  and  his  King ; 
He  and  his  valiant  soldiers  did  range  the  woods  full  wide, 
And  hardships  they  endured  to  quell  the  Indian's  pride. 

'T  was  nigh  unto  Pigwacket,  on  the  eighth  day  of  May, 
They  spied  a  rebel  Indian  soon  after  break  of  day ; 
He  on  a  bank  was  walking,  upon  a  neck  of  land, 
Which  leads  into  a  pond  as  we  're  made  to  understand. 


54  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Our  men  resolved  to  have  him,  and  travelled  two  miles  round, 
Until  they  met  the  Indian,  who  boldly  stood  his  ground  ; 
Then  up  speaks  Captain  Lovewell,  "Take  you  good  heed,"  says  he, 
"  This  rogue  is  to  decoy  us,  I  very  plainly  see. 

"  The  Indians  lie  in  ambush,  in  some  place  nigh  at  hand, 
In  order  to  surround  us  upon  this  neck  of  land  ; 
Therefore  we  '11  march  in  order,  and  each  man  leave  his  pack ; 
That  we  may  briskly  fight  them  when  they  make  their  attack." 

They  came  unto  this  Indian,  who  did  them  thus  defy, 
As  soon  as  they  came  nigh  him,  two  guns  he  did  let  fly, 
Which  wounded  Captain  Lovewell,  and  likewise  one  man  more, 
But  when  this  rogue  was  running,  they  laid  him  in  his  gore. 

Then  having  scalped  the  Indian,  they  went  back  to  the  spot, 
Where  they  had  laid  their  packs  down,  but  there  they  found  them 

not, 

For  the  Indians  having  spied  them,  when  they  them  down  did  lay, 
Did  seize  them  for  their  plunder,  and  carry  them  away. 

These  rebels  lay  in  ambush,  this  very  place  hard  by, 

So  that  an  English  soldier  did  one  of  them  espy, 

And  cried  out,  "  Here's  an  Indian  "  ;  with  that  they  started  out, 

As  fiercely  as  old  lions,  and  hideously  did  shout. 

With  that  our  valiant  English  all  gave  a  loud  huzza., 

To  show  the  rebel  Indians  they  feared  them  not  a  straw  : 

So  now  the  fight  began,  and  as  fiercely  as  could  be, 

The  Indians  ran  up  to  them,  but  soon  were  forced  to  flee. 

Then  spake  up  Captain  Lovewell,  when  first  the  fight  began, 
11  Fight  on  my  valiant  heroes  !  you  see  they  fall  like  rain." 
For  as  we  are  informed,  the  Indians  were  so  thick, 
A  man  could  scarcely  fire  a  gun  and  not  some  of  them  hit. 

Then  did  the  rebels  try  their  best  our  soldiers  to  surround, 
But  they  could  not  accomplish  it,  because  there  was  a  pond, 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  55 

To  which  our  men  retreated  and  covered  all  the  rear, 

The  rogues  were  forced  to  flee  them,  although  they  skulked  for  fear. 

Two  logs  there  were  behind  them  that  close  together  lay, 
Without  being  discovered,  they  could  not  get  away ; 
Therefore  our  valiant  English  they  travelled  in  a  row, 
And  at  a  handsome  distance  as  they  were  wont  to  go. 

'T  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  first  the  fight  begun, 
And  fiercely  did  continue  until  the  setting  sun  ; 
Excepting  that  the  Indians  some  hours  before  't  was  night, 
Drew  off  into  the  bushes  and  ceased  awhile  to  fight. 

But  soon  again  returned,  in  fierce  and  furious  mood, 
Shouting  as  in  the  morning,  but  yet  not  half  so  loud ; 
For  as  we  are  informed,  so  thick  and  fast  they  fell, 
Scarce  twenty  of  their  number  at  night  did  get  home  well. 

And  that  our  valiant  English  till  midnight  there  did  stay, 
To  see  whether  the  rebels  would  have  another  fray ; 
But  they  no  more  returning,  they  made  off  towards  their  home, 
And  brought  away  their  wounded  as  far  as  they  could  come. 

Of  all  our  valiant  English  there  were  but  thirty-four, 

And  of  the  rebel  Indians  there  were  about  fourscore. 

And  sixteen  of  our  English  did  safely  home  return, 

The  rest  were  killed  and  wounded,  for  which  we  all  must  mourn. 

Our  worthy  Captain  Lovewell  among  them  there  did  die, 
They  killed  Lieut.  Robbins,  and  wounded  good  young  Frye, 
Who  was  our  English  Chaplain  ;  he  many  Indians  slew, 
And  some  of  them  he  scalped  when  bullets  round  him  flew. 

Young  Fullam  too  I  '11  mention,  because  he  fought  so  well, 
Endeavoring  to  save  a  man,  a  sacrifice  he  fell  : 
But  yet  our  valiant  Englishmen  in  fight  were  ne'er  dismayed, 
But  still  they  kept  their  motion,  and  Wyman's  Captain  made, 


56  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Who  shot  the  old  chief  Paugus,  which  did  the  foe  defeat, 
Then  set  his  men  in  order,  and  brought  off  the  retreat ; 
And  braving  many  dangers  and  hardships  by  the  way, 
They  safe  arrived  at  Dunstable,  the  thirteenth  day  of  May. 


MARY  ROWLANDSON 

[Flourished  in  the  year  1682] 

ATTACK  BY  INDIANS 

FROM  "  NARRATIVE  OF  THE  CAPTIVITY  AND  RESTOURATION  OF 
MRS.  MARY  ROULANDSON,"  1682 

At  length  they  came  and  beset  our  house,  [at  Lancaster,  Feb 
ruary  10,  1675,  O.  S.]  and  quickly  it  was  the  dolefulest  day  that 
ever  mine  eyes  saw.  The  house  stood  upon  the  edge  of  a  hill ; 
some  of  the  Indians  got  behind  the  hill,  others  into  the  barn,  and 
others  behind  anything  that  would  shelter  them  ;  from  all  which 
places  they  shot  against  the  house,  so  that  the  bullets  seemed  to 
fly  like  hail,  and  quickly  they  wounded  one  man  among  us,  then 
another,  then  a  third.  About  two  hours  (according  to  my  observa 
tion  in  that  amazing  time)  they  had  been  about  the  house  before 
they  prevailed  to  fire  it,  (which  they  did  with  flax  and  hemp  which 
they  brought  out  of  the  barn,  and  there  being  no  defence  about  the 
house,  only  two  flankers  at  two  opposite  corners,  and  one  of  them 
not  finished)  they  fired  it  once,  and  one  ventured  out  and  quenched 
it,  but  they  quickly  fired  it  again,  and  that  took.  Now  is  the  dread 
ful  hour  come  that  I  have  often  heard  of  (in  time  of  the  war,  as  it 
was  the  case  of  others)  but  now  mine  eyes  see  it.  Some  in  our  house 
were  fighting  for  their  lives,  others  wallowing  in  blood,  the  house 
on  fire  over  our  heads,  and  the  bloody  heathen  ready  to  knock  us 
on  the  head  if  we  stirred  out.  Now  might  we  hear  mothers  and 
children  crying  out  for  themselves  and  one  another,  Lord,  what 
shall  we  do  !  Then  I  took  my  children  (and  one  of  my  sisters  hers) 
to  go  forth  and  leave  the  house  :  but,  as  soon  as  we  came  to  the 
door  and  appeared,  the  Indians  shot  so  thick  that  the  bullets  rattled 
against  the  house  as  if  one  had  taken  a  handful  of  stones  and  threw 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  57 

them,  so  that  we  were  forced  to  give  back.  We  had  six  stout  dogs 
belonging  to  our  garrison,  but  none  of  them  would  stir,  though  at 
another  time  if  an  Indian  had  come  to  the  door,  they  were  ready 
to  fly  upon  him  and  tear  him  down.  The  Lord  hereby  would  make 
us  the  more  to  acknowledge  his  hand,  and  to  see  that  our  help  is 
always  in  him.  But  out  we  must  go,  the  fire  increasing,  and  coming 
along  behind  us  roaring,  and  the  Indians  gaping  before  us  with  their 
guns,  spears,  and  hatchets  to  devour  us.  No  sooner  were  we  out 
of  the  house,  but  my  brother-in-law  (being  before  wounded  in  de 
fending  the  house,  in  or  near  the  throat)  fell  down  dead,  whereat 
the  Indians  scornfully  shouted  and  hallowed,  and  were  presently 
upon  him,  stripping  off  his  clothes.  The  bullets  flying  thick,  one 
went  through  my  side,  and  the  same  (as  would  seem)  through  the 
bowels  and  hand  of  my  poor  child  in  my  arms.  One  of  my  elder 
sister's  children  (named  William)  had  then  his  leg  broke,  which 
the  Indians  perceiving  they  knocked  him  on  the  head.  Thus  were 
we  butchered  by  those  merciless  heathens,  standing  amazed,  with 
the  blood  running  down  to  our  heels.  My  eldest  sister  -being  yet 
in  the  house,  and  seeing  those  woful  sights,  the  infidels  hauling 
mothers  one  way  and  children  another,  and  some  wallowing  in  their 
blood;  and  her  eldest  son  telling  her  that  her  son  William  was 
dead,  and  myself  was  wounded,  she  said,  "  and  Lord,  let  me  die 
with  them ;  "  which  was  no  sooner  said,  but  she  was  struck  with 
a  bullet,  and  fell  down  dead  over  the  threshold.  I  hope  she  is 
reaping  the  fruit  of  her  good  labors,  being  faithful  to  the  service 
of  God  in  her  place.  .  .  . 

HER  EXPERIENCES   IN  CAPTIVITY 

I  had  often  before  this  said,  that  if  the  Indians  should  come, 
I  should  choose  rather  to  be  killed  by  them  than  taken  alive,  but 
when  it  came  to  the  trial,  my  mind  changed ;  their  glittering 
weapons  so  daunted  my  spirit,  that  I  chose  rather  to  go  along  with 
those  (as  I  may  say)  ravenous  bears,  than  that  moment  to  end 
my  days.  And  that  I  may  the  better  declare  what  happened  to 
me  during  that  grievous  captivity,  I  shall  particularly  speak  of  the 
several  Removes  we  had  up  and  down  the  wilderness. 


58  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  FIRST  REMOVE 

Now  away  we  must  go  with  those  barbarous  creatures,  with  our 
bodies  wounded  and  bleeding,  and  our  hearts  no  less  than  our 
bodies.  About  a  mile  we  went  that  night,  up  upon  a  hill,  within 
sight  of  the  town,  where  we  intended  to  lodge.  There  was  hard 
by  a  vacant  house  (deserted  by  the  English  before,  for  fear  of  the 
Indians)  ;  I  asked  them  whether  I  might  not  lodge  in  the  house 
that  night  ?  to  which  they  answered,  "  What,  will  you  love  Eng 
lishmen  still  ? "  This  was  the  dolefulest  night  that  ever  my  eyes 
saw.  Oh,  the  roaring  and  singing,  and  dancing,  and  yelling  of 
those  black  creatures  in  the  night,  which  made  the  place  a  lively 
resemblance  of  hell.  And  miserable  was  the  waste  that  was  there 
made,  of  horses,  cattle,  sheep,  swine,  calves,  lambs,  roasting  pigs, 
and  fowls  (which  they  had  plundered  in  the  town),  some  roasting, 
some  lying  and  burning,  and  some  boiling,  to  feed  our  merciless 
enemies ;  who  were  joyful  enough,  though  we  were  disconsolate. 
To  add  to  the  dolefulness  of  the  former  day,  and  the  dismalness 
of  the  present  night,  my  thoughts  ran  upon  my  losses  and  sad, 
bereaved  condition.  All  was  gone,  my  husband  gone  (at  least  sepa 
rated  from  me,  he  being  in  the  Bay ;  and  to  add  to  my  grief,  the 
Indians  told  me  they  would  kill  him  as  he  came  homeward),  my 
children  gone,  my  relations  and  friends  gone,  our  house  and  home, 
and  all  our  comforts  within  door  and  without,  all  was  gone  (except 
my  life),  and  I  knew  not  but  the  next  moment  that  might  go  too. 

There  remained  nothing  to  me  but  one  poor,  wounded  babe,  and 
it  seemed  at  present  worse  than  death,  that  it  was  in  such  a  pitiful 
condition,  bespeaking  compassion,  and  I  had^no  refreshing  for  it, 
nor  suitable  things  to  revive  it.  Little  do  many  think,  what  is  the 
savageness  and  brutishness  of  this  barbarous  enemy,  those  even 
that  seem  to  profess  more  than  others  among  them,  when  the 
English  have  fallen  into  their  hands.  .  .  . 

THE  SECOND  REMOVE 

But  now  (the  next  morning)  I  must  turn  my  back  upon  the  town, 
and  travel  with  them  into  the  vast  and  desolate  wilderness,  I  know 
not  whither.  It  is  not  my  tongue  or  pen  can  express  the  sorrows 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  59 

of  my  heart,  and  bitterness  of  my  spirit,  that  I  had  at  this  depar 
ture  ;  but  God  was  with  me  in  a  wonderful  manner,  carrying  me 
along  and  bearing  up  my  spirit,  that  it  did  not  quite  fail.  One  of 
the  Indians  carried  my  poor  wounded  babe  upon  a  horse  ;  it  went 
moaning  all  along:  "I  shall  die,  I  shall  die."  I  went  on  foot  after 
it,  with  sorrow  that  cannot  be  expressed.  At  length  I  took  it  off 
the  horse,  and  carried  it  in  my  arms,  till  my  strength  failed  and  I 
fell  down  with  it.  Then  they  set  me  upon  a  horse  with  my  wounded 
child  in  my  lap,  and  there  being  no  furniture  on  the  horse's  back, 
as  we  were  going  down  a  steep  hill,  we  both  fell  over  the  horse's 
head,  at  which  they,  like  inhuman  creatures,  laughed,  and  rejoiced 
to  see  it,  though  I  thought  we  should  there  have  ended  our  days, 
overcome  with  so  many  difficulties.  But  the  Lord  renewed  my 
strength  still,  and  carried  me  along,  that  I  might  see  more  of  his 
power,  yea  so  much  that  I  could  never  have  thought  of,  had  I  not 
experienced  it.  ... 


COTTON  MATHER 

[Born  at  Boston,  Massachusetts,  February  12,  1663  ;  died  at  Boston, 
February  13,  1728] 

THE  ORIGIN   OF  WITCHCRAFT  IN   NEW  ENGLAND 
FROM  "THE  WONDERS  OF  THE  INVISIBLE  WORLD,"  1693 

We  have  been  advised  by  some  credible  Christians  yet  alive, 
that  a  malefactor,  accused  of  witchcraft  as  well  as  murder,  and 
executed  in  this  place  more  than  forty  years  ago,  did  then  give 
notice  of  an  horrible  plot  against  the  country  by  witchcraft,  and  a 
foundation  of  witchcraft  then  laid,  which  if  it  were  not  seasonably 
discovered  would  probably  blow  up  and  pull  down  all  the  churches 
in  the  country.  And  we  have  now  with  horror  seen  the  discovery 
of  such  a  witchcraft !  An  army  of  devils  is  horribly  broke  in  upon 
the  place  which  is  the  centre,  and,  after  a  sort,  the  first-born  of 
our  English  settlements  ;  and  the  houses  of  the  good  people  there 
are  fill'd  with  the  doleful  shrieks  of  their  children  and  servants, 
tormented  by  invisible  hands,  with  tortures  altogether  preternatural. 


60          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

After  the  mischiefs  there  endeavored,  and  since  in  part  conquered, 
the  terrible  plague,  of  evil  angels,  hath  made  its  progress  into 
some  other  places,  where  other  persons  have  been  in  like  manner 
diabolically  handled.  These  our  poor  afflicted  neighbors,  quickly 
after  they  become  infected  and  infested  with  these  daemons,  ar 
rive  to  a  capacity  of  discerning  those  which  they  conceive  the 
shapes  of  their  troublers  ;  and  notwithstanding  the  great  and  just 
suspicion,  that  the  daemons  might  impose  the  shapes  of  innocent 
persons  in  their  spectral  exhibitions  upon  the  sufferers  (which 
may  perhaps  prove  no  small  part  of  the  witch-plot  in  the  issue), 
yet  many  of  the  persons  thus  represented  being  examined,  sev 
eral  of  them  have  been  convicted  of  a  very  damnable  witchcraft. 
Yea,  more  than  one  twenty  have  confessed  that  they  have  signed 
unto  a  book  which  the  devil  show'd  them,  and  engaged  in  his 
hellish  design  of  bewitching  and  ruining  our  land.  We  know  not, 
at  least  I  know  not,  how  far  the  delusions  of  Satan  may  be  inter 
woven  into  some  circumstances  of  the  confessions  ;  but  one  would 
think  all  the  rules  of  understanding  human  affairs  are  at  an  end, 
if  after  so  many  most  voluntary  harmonious  confessions,  made  by 
intelligent  persons  of  all  ages,  in  sundry  towns,  at  several  times, 
we  must  not  believe  the  main  strokes  wherein  those  confessions 
all  agree ;  especially  when  we  have  a  thousand  preternatural  things 
every  day  before  our  eyes,  wherein  the  confessors  do  acknowledge 
their  concernment,  and  give  demonstration  of  their  being  so  con 
cerned.  If  the  devils  now  can  strike  the  minds  of  men  with  any 
poisons  of  so  fine  a  composition  and  operation,  that  scores  of  inno 
cent  people  shall  unite  in  confessions  of  a  crime  which  we  see 
actually  committed,  it  is  a  thing  prodigious,  beyond  the  wonders 
of  the  former  ages,  and  it  threatens  no  less  than  a  sort  of  dissolu 
tion  upon  the  world.  Now,  by  these  confessions  'tis  agreed  that 
the  devil  has  made  a  dreadful  knot  of  witches  in  the  country,  and 
by  the  help  of  witches  has  dreadfully  increased  that  knot ;  that 
these  witches  have  driven  a  trade  commissioning  their  confederate 
spirits,  to  do  all  sorts  of  mischiefs  to  the  neighbors,  whereupon 
there  have  ensued  such  mischievous  consequences  upon  the  bodies 
and  estates  of  the  neighborhood,  as  could  not  otherwise  be  ac 
counted  for.  Yea,  that  at  prodigious  witch-meetings,  the  wretches 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  61 

have  proceeded  so  far  as  to  concert  and  consult  the  methods  of 
rooting  out  the  Christian  religion  from  this  country,  and  setting 
up  instead  of  it,  perhaps  a  more  gro§s  diabolism  than  ever  the 
world  saw  before.  And  yet  it  will  be  a  thing  little  short  of  miracle, 
if  in  so  spread  a  business  as  this,  the  devil  should  not  get  in  some 
of  his  juggles  to  confound  the  discovery  of  all  the  rest.  .  .  . 

SOME  OF  THE  EVIDENCE  GIVEN  AT  THE  WITCH  TRIALS 

FROM  THE  SAME 
FROM  THE  TRIAL  OF  GEORGE  BURROUGHS 

Glad  should  I  have  been  if  I  had  never  known  the  name  of  this 
man  ;  or  never  had  this  occasion  to  mention  so  much  as  the  first 
letters  of  his  name.  But  the  government  requiring  some  account 
of  his  trial  to  be  inserted  in  this  book,  it  becomes  me  with  all 
obedience  to  submit  unto  the  order. 

This  G.  B.  was  indicted  for  witch-craft,  and  in  the  prosecution 
of  the  charge  against  him  he  was  accused  by  five  or  six  of  the  be 
witched,  as  the  author  of  their  miseries  ;  he  was  accused  by  eight 
of  the  confessing  witches,  as  being  a  head  actor  at  some  of  their 
hellish  randezvouzes,  and  one  who  had  the  promise  of  being  a  king 
in  Satan's  kingdom,  now  going  to  be  erected.  He  was  accused  by 
nine  persons  for  extraordinary  lifting,  and  such  feats  of  strength 
as  could  not  be  done  without  a  diabolical  assistance.  And  for  other 
such  things  he  was  accused,  until  about  thirty  testimonies  were 
brought  in  against  him  ;  nor  were  these  judg'd  the  half  of  what 
might  have  been  considered  for  his  conviction.  However  they 
were  enough  to  fix  the  character  of  a  witch  upon  him  according 
to  the  rules  of  reasoning,  by  the  judicious  Gaule,  in  that  case 
directed.  .  .  . 

The  testimonies  of  the  other  sufferers  concurred  with  these ; 
and  it  was  remarkable  that,  whereas  biting  was  one  of  the  ways 
which  the  witches  used  for  the  vexing  of  the  sufferers,  when  they 
cry'd  out  of  G.  B.  biting  them,  the  print  of  the  teeth  would  be 
seen  on  the  flesh  of  the  complainers,  and  just  such  a  set  of  teeth 
as  G.  B.'s  would  then  appear  upon  them,  which  could  be  distin 
guished  from  those  of  some  other  men's.  Others  of  them  testified 


62  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

that  in  their  torments  G.  B.  tempted  them  to  go  unto  a  sacrament, 
unto  which  they  perceived  him  with  a  sound  of  trumpet  summon 
ing  of  other  witches,  who  quickly  after  the  sound  would  come  from 
all  quarters  unto  the  rendezvous.  One  of  them  falling  into  a  kind 
of  trance  affirmed  that  G.  B.  had  carried  *her  away  into  a  very  high 
mountain,  where  he  shewed  her  mighty  and  glorious  kingdoms, 
and  said,  "  He  would  give  them  all  to  her,  if  she  would  write  in 
his  book  "  ;  but  she  told  him,  "  They  were  none  of  his  to  give  "  ; 
and  refused  the  motions;  enduring  of  much  misery  for  that  refusal. 

It  cost  the  Court  a  wonderful  deal  of  trouble,  to  hear  the  testi 
monies  of  the  sufferers ;  for  when  they  were  going  to  give  in  their 
depositions,  they  would  for  a  long  time  be  taken  with  fits  that  made 
them  uncapable  of  saying  any  thing.  The  chief  judge  asked  the 
prisoner,  who  he  thought  hindered  these  witnesses  from  giving 
their  testimonies.  And  he  answered,  "  He  supposed  it  was  the 
devil."  That  honorable  person  replied,  "  How  comes  the  devil 
then  to  be  so  loath  to  have  any  testimony  borne  against  you  ? " 
Which  cast  him  into  very  great  confusion.  .  .  . 

Accordingly  several  of  the  bewitched  had  given  in  their  testi 
mony,  that  they  had  been  troubled  with  the  apparitions  of  two 
women,  who  said  that  they  were  G.  B.'s  two  wives,  and  that  he 
had  been  the  death  of  them  ;  and  that  the  magistrates  must  be 
told  of  it,  before  whom  if  B.  upon  his  trial  denied  it,  that  they 
did  not  know  but  that  they  should  appear  again  in  court.  Now 
G.  B.  had  been  infamous  for  the  barbarous  usage  of  his  two  late 
wives,  all  the  country  over.  Moreover,  it  was  testified,  the  spectre 
of  G.  B.  threatening  of  the  sufferers  told  them  he  had  killed 
(besides  others)  Mrs.  Lawson  and  her  daughter  Ann.  And  it  was 
noted,  that  these  were  the  virtuous  wife  and  daughter  of  one  at 
whom  this  G.  B.  might  have  a  prejudice  for  his  being  serviceable 
at  Salem  Village,  from  whence  himself  had  in  ill  terms  removed 
some  years  before  ;  and  that  when  they  died,  which  was  long  since, 
there  were  some  odd  circumstances  about  them,  which  made  some 
of  the  attendants  there  suspect  something  of  witch-craft,  though 
none  imagined  from  what  quarter  it  should  come. 

Well,  G.  B.  being  now  upon  his  trial,  one  of  the  bewitched 
persons  was  cast  into  horror  of  the  ghost  of  B's  two  deceased 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  63 

wives  then  appearing  before  him,  and  crying  for  vengeance  against 
him.  Hereupon  several  of  the  bewitched  persons  were  successively 
called  in,  who  all,  not  knowing  what  the  former  had  seen  and  said, 
concurred  in  their  horror  of  the  apparition,  which  they  affirmed 
that  he  had  before  him.  But  he,  though  much  appalled,  utterly 
deny'd  that  he  discern 'd  any  thing  of  it ;  nor  was  it  any  part  of 
his  conviction.  .  .  . 

A  famous  divine  recites  this  among  the  convictions  of  a  witch  : 
"  The  testimony  of  the  party  bewitched,  whether  pining  or  dying ; 
together  with  the  joint  oaths  of  sufficient  persons  that  have  seen 
certain  prodigious  pranks  or  feats  wrought  by  the  party  accused." 
Now,  God  had  been  pleased  so  to  leave  this  G.  B.  that  he  had 
ensnared  himself  by  several  instances,  which  he  had  formerly  given 
of  a  preternatural  strength,  and  which  were  now  produced  against 
him.  He  was  a  very  puny  man,  yet  he  had  often  done  things 
beyond  the  strength  of  a  giant.  A  gun  of  about  seven  foot  barrel, 
and  so  heavy  that  strong  men  could  not  steadily  hold  it  out  with 
both  hands  ;  there  were  several  testimonies,  given  in  by  persons 
of  credit  and  honor,  that  he  made  nothing  of  taking  up  such  a 
gun  behind  the  lock  with  but  one  hand,  and  holding  it  out  like 
a  pistol  at  arms-end.  G.  B.  in  his  vindication  was  so  foolish  as 
to  say,  "  That  an  Indian  was  there,  and  held  it  out  at  the  same 
time."  Whereas  none  of  the  spectators  ever  saw  any  such  Indian  ; 
but  they  supposed,  the  "  Black  Man  "  (as  the  witches  call  the  devil ; 
and  they  generally  say  he  resembles  an  Indian)  might  give  him 
that  assistance.  There  was  evidence  likewise  brought  in,  that  he 
made  nothing  of  taking  up  whole  barrels  fill'd  with  molasses  or 
cider  in  very  disadvantageous  postures  and  carrying  of  them  through 
the  difficultest  places  out  of  a  canoe  to  the  shore. 

Yea,  there  were  two  testimonies,  that  G.  B.  with  only  putting 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  into  the  muzzle  of  an  heavy 
gun,  a  fowling-piece  of  about  six  or  seven  foot  barrel,  did  lift  up 
the  gun,  and  hold  it  out  at  arms-end  ;  a  gun  which  the  depo 
nents  thought  strong  men  could  not  with  both  hands  lift  up  and 
hold  out  at  the  butt-end,  as  is  usual.  Indeed,  one  of  these  wit 
nesses  was  over-persuaded  by  some  persons  to  be  out  of  the  way 
upon  G.  B.'s  trial ;  but  he  came  afterwards  with  sorrow  for  his 


64  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

withdraw  [al],  and  gave  in  his  testimony.  Nor  were  either  of  these 
witnesses  made  use  of  as  evidences  in  the  trial.  .  .  . 

Faltering,  faulty,  unconstant,  and  contrary  answers  upon  judicial 
and  deliberate  examination,  are  counted  some  unlucky  symptoms 
of  guilt,  in  all  crimes,  especially  in  witchcrafts.  Now  there  never 
was  a  prisoner  more  eminent  for  them  than  G.  B.  both  at  his 
examination  and  on  his  trial.  His  tergiversations,  contradictions, 
and  falsehoods  were  very  sensible.  He  had  little  to  say,  but  that 
he  had  heard  some  things  that  he  could  not  prove,  reflecting  upon 
the  reputation  of  some  of  the  witnesses. 

Only  he  gave  in  a  paper  to  the  jury ;  wherein,  although  he  had 
many  times  before  granted,  not  only  that  there  are  witches,  but 
also  that  the  present  sufferings  of  the  country  are  the  effects  of 
horrible  witchcrafts,  yet  he  now  goes  to  evince  it,  "That  there 
neither  are,  nor  ever  were  witches,  that  having  made  a  compact 
with  the  devil  can  send  a  devil  to  torment  other  people  at  a  dis 
tance."  This  paper  was  transcribed  out  of  Ady ;  which  the  Court 
presently  knew,  as  soon  as  they  heard  it.  But  he  said,  he  had 
taken  none  of  it  out  of  any  book ;  for  which  his  evasion  after 
wards  was,  that  a  gentleman  gave  him  the  discourse  in  a  manu 
script,  from  whence  he  transcribed  it. 

The  jury  brought  him  in  guilty.  But  when  he  came  to  die,  he 
utterly  denied  the  fact  whereof  he  had  been  thus  convicted. 

FROM  THE  TRIAL  OF  MARTHA  CARRIER 

Martha  Carrier  was  indicted  for  the  bewitching  certain  persons, 
according  to  the  form  usual  in  such  cases  pleading  not  guilty  to 
her  indictment ;  there  were  first  brought  in  a  considerable  number 
of  the  bewitched  persons ;  who  not  only  made  the  court  sensible 
of  a  horrid  witchcraft  committed  upon  them,  but  also  deposed  that 
it  was  Martha  Carrier  or  her  shape  that  grievously  tormented  them 
by  biting,  pricking,  pinching  and  choking  of  them.  It  was  further 
deposed  that  while  this  Carrier  was  on  her  examination  before  the 
magistrates,  the  poor  people  were  so  tortured  that  every  one  ex 
pected  their  death  upon  the  very  spot,  but  that  upon  the  binding 
of  Carrier  they  were  eased,.  Moreover  the  look  of  Carrier  then 
laid  the  afflicted  people  for  dead  ;  and  her  touch,  if  her  eye  at  the 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  65 

same  time  were  off  them,  raised  them  again.  Which  things  were 
also  now  seen  upon  her  trial.  And  it  was  testified,  that  upon  the 
mention  of  some  having  their  necks  twisted  almost  round  by  the 
shape  of  this  Carrier,  she  replied,  "  It 's  no  matter  though  their 
necks  had  been  twisted  quite  off." 

Before  the  trial  of  this  prisoner  several  of  her  own  children  had 
frankly  and  fully  confessed,  not  only  that  they  were  witches  them 
selves,  but  that  this  their  mother  had  made  them  so.  This  con 
fession  they  made  with  great  shews  of  repentance,  and  with  much 
demonstration  of  truth.  They  related  place,  time,  occasion ;  they 
gave  an  account  of  journeys,  meetings  and  mischiefs  by  them  per 
formed,  and  were  very  credible  in  what  they  said.  Nevertheless, 
this  evidence  was  not  produced  against  the  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
inasmuch  as  there  was  other  evidence  enough  to  proceed  upon.  .  .  . 

Allin  Toothaker  testify 'd  that  Richard,  the  son  of  Martha  Car 
rier,  having  some  difference  with  him,  pull'd  him  down  by  the 
hair  of  the  head.  When  he  rose  again  he  was  going  to  strike  at 
Richard  Carrier ;  but  fell  down  flat  on  his  back  to  the  ground  and 
had  not  power  to  stir  hand  or  foot,  until  he  told  Carrier  he  yielded ; 
and  then  he  saw  the  shape  of  Martha  Carrier  go  off  his  breast. 

This  Toothaker  had  received  a  wound  in  the  wars  ;  and  he  now 
testify'd  that  Martha  Carrier  told  him  he  should  never  be  cured. 
Just  afore  the  apprehending  of  Carrier,  he  could  thrust  a  knitting 
needle  into  his  wound,  four  inches  deep  ;  but  presently  after  her 
being  seized,  he  was  thoroughly  healed.  .  .  . 

One  Foster,  who  confessed  her  own  share  in  the  witchcraft  for 
which  the  prisoner  stood  indicted,  affirmed  that  she  had  seen  the 
prisoner  at  some  of  their  witch  meetings,  and  that  it  was  this 
Carrier,  who  persuaded  her  to  be  a  witch.  She  confess'd,  that  the 
devil  carry'd  them  on  a  pole  to  a  witch-meeting;  but  the  pole 
broke,  and  she  hanging  about  Carrier's  neck,  they  both  fell  down, 
and  she  then  received  an  hurt  by  the  fall  whereof  she  was  not 
at  this  very  time  recovered.  .  .  . 

In  the  time  of  this  prisoner's  trial,  one  Susanna  Sheldon  in 
open  court  had  her  hands  unaccountably  ty'd  together  with  a  wheel- 
band,  so  fast  that  without  cutting  it  could  not  be  loosed.  It  was 
done  by  a  spectre ;  and  the  sufferer  affirm'd  it  was  the  prisoner's. 


66  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Memorandum.  This  rampant  hag,  Martha  Carrier,  was  the 
person,  of  whom  the  confessions  of  the  witches,  and  of  her  own 
children  among  the  rest,  agreed,  that  the  devil  had  promised  her 
she  should  be  Queen  of  Hell. 


SAMUEL  SEW  ALL 

[Born  at  Bishopstoke,  England,  March  28,  1652;  died  at  Boston,  Massa 
chusetts,  January  I,  1730] 

FROM  THE  DIARY  OF  SAMUEL  SEWALL 
DISCIPLINE  AT  HARVARD 

Monday,  June  15,  1674.  .  .  .  Thomas  Sargeant  was  examined 
by  the  Corporation :  finally,  the  advice  of  Mr.  Danforth,  Mr. 
Stoughton,  Mr.  Thatcher,  Mr.  Mather  (then  present)  was  taken. 
This  was  his  sentence. 

That  being  convicted  of  speaking  blasphemous  words  concerning 
the  H.  G.  he  should  be  therefore  publicly  whipped  before  all  the 
Scholars.  2.  That  he  should  be  suspended  as  to  taking  his  degree 
of  Bachelor  (this  sentence  read  before  him  twice  at  the  Prts.  before 
this  committee,  and  in  the  library  i  up  before  'execution.)  3.  Sit 
alone  by  himself  in  the  Hall  uncovered  at  meals,  during  the  pleasure 
of  the  President  and  Fellows,  and  be  in  all  things  obedient,  doing 
what  exercise  was  appointed  him  by  the  President,  or  else  be  finally 
expelled  from  the  College.  The  first  was  presently  put  in  execution 
in  the  Library  (Mr.  Danforth  Jr.  being  present)  before  the  Scholars. 
He  kneeled  down  and  the  instrument  Goodman  Hely  attended  the 
President's  word  as  to  the  performance  of  his  part  in  the  work. 
Prayer  was  had  before  and  after  by  the  President.  July  I,  1674. 
Sir  Thatcher  commonplaced,  Justification  was  his  head.  He  had  a 
good  solid  piece  :  stood  above  an  hour  and  yet  brake  off  before  he 
came  to  any  use.  By  reason  that  there  was  no  warning  given,  none 
(after  the  undergraduates)  were  present,  save  Mr.  Dan  Gookin,  Sr., 
the  President  and  myself.  July  3,  1674.  N.B.  Mr.  Gookin,  Jr.,  was 
gone  a  fishing  with  his  brothers. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  67 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  IN  BOSTON 

Dec.  25.  Friday,  1685.  Carts  come  to  Town  and  shops  open 
as  is  usual.  Some  somehow  observe  the  day ;  but  are  vexed  I  be 
lieve  that  the  body  of  the  people  profane  it,  and  blessed  be  'God  no 
authority  yet  to  compell  them  to  keep  it.  A  great  snow  fell  last 
night  so  this  day  and  night  very  cold. 

NOTES  ON  THE  WITCHCRAFT  TRIALS 

April  nth,  1692.  Went  to  Salem,  where,  in  the  Meeting-house, 
the  persons  accused  of  Witchcraft  were  examined  ;  was  a  very  great 
Assembly ;  'twas  awful  to  see  how  the  afflicted  persons  were  agitated. 
Mr.  Noyes  pray'd  at  the  beginning,  and  Mr.  Higginson  concluded. 
(In  the  margin}  Vae,  Vae,  Vae,  Witchcraft. 

Augt.  I Qth,  1692.  .  .  .  This  day  (in  the  margin,  Doleful  Witch 
craft)  George  Burrough,  John  Willard,  Jno.  Procter,  Martha  Carrier, 
and  George  Jacobs  were  executed  at  Salem,  a  very  great  number 
of  spectators  being  present.  Mr.  Cotton  Mather  was  there,  Mr.  Sims, 
Hale,  Noyes,  Chiever  &c.  All  of  them  said  they  were  innocent, 
Carrier  and  all.  Mr.  Mather  said  they  all  died  by  a  righteous 
sentence.  Mr.  Burrough  by  his  speech,  prayer,  protestation  of  his 
innocence,  did  much  move  unthinking  persons,  which  occasions 
their  speaking  hardly  concerning  his  being  executed. 

Monday,  Sept.  19,  1692.  About  noon,  at  Salem,  Giles  Corey 
was  press'd  to  death  for  standing  mute ;  much  pains  were  used 
with  him  two  days,  one  after  another,  by  the  Court  and  Capt. 
Gardner  of  Nantucket  who  had  been  of  his  acquaintance ;  but  all 
in  vain. 

Sept.  20.  Now  I  hear  from  Salem  that  about  18  years  ago,  he 
was  suspected  to  have  stamped  and  press'd  a  man  to  death,  but 
was  cleared.  'Twas  not  remembered  till  Anne  Putnam  was  told  of 
it  by  Corey's  spectre  the  Sabbath-day  night  before  the  execution. 

Sept.  21,  1692.  A  petition  is  sent  to  Town  in  behalf  of  Dorcas 
Hoar  who  now  confesses :  Accordingly  an  order  is  sent  to  the 


68  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Sheriff  to  forbear  her  execution,  notwithstanding  her  being  in  the 
warrant  to  die  to-morrow.  This  is  the  first  condemned  person  who 
has  confess'd. 

FAMILY  DISCIPLINE 

Nov.  6,  1692.  Joseph  threw  a  knop  of  brass  and  hit  his  Sister 
Betty  on  the  forehead  so  as  to  make  it  bleed  and  swell ;  upon 
which,  and  for  his  playing  at  Prayer-time,  and  eating  when  Return 
Thanks,  I  whipped  him  pretty  smartly.  When  I  first  went  in 
(called  by  his  Grandmother)  he  sought  to  shadow  and  hide  him 
self  from  me  behind  the  head  of  the  cradle :  which  gave  me  the 
sorrowful  remembrance  of  Adam's  carriage. 

REFLECTIONS  ON  SLAVERY 

Fourth-day,  June  19,  1700.  .  .  .  Having  been  long  and  much 
dissatisfied  with  the  trade  of  fetching  Negroes  from  Guinea ;  at 
last  I  had  a  strong  inclination  to  write  something  about  it ;  but  it 
wore  off.  At  last  reading  Bayne,  Ephes.  about  servants,  who  men 
tions  Blackamoors  ;  I  began  to  be  uneasy  that  I  had  so  long 
neglected  doing  anything.  When  I  was  thus  thinking,  in  came 
Bro.  Belknap  to  show  me  a  petition  he  intended  to  present  to 
Gen1  Court  for  the  freeing  of  a  Negro  and  his  wife,  who  were 
unjustly  held  in  bondage.  And  there  is  a  motion  by  a  Boston 
Committee  to  get  a  law  that  all  importers  of  Negroes  shall  pay 
40s  per  head,  to  discourage  the  bringing  of  them.  And  Mr.  C. 
Mather  resolves  to  publish  a  sheet  to  exhort  masters  to  labor  their 
conversion.  Which  makes  me  hope  that  I  was  called  of  God  to 
write  this  apology  for  them.  Let  his  blessing  accompany  the  same. 

A  COLONIAL  WEDDING 

Octobr.  29,  1713.  ...  In  the  Evening  Mr.  Ebenezer  Pemberton 
marries  my  son  Joseph  Sewall  and  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Walley.  Wait 
Winthrop  esqr.  and  Lady,  Samuel  Porter  esqr.,  Edmund  Quinsey 
esqr.,  Ephriam  Savage  esqr.  and  wife,  Madam  Usher,  Mr.  Mico 
and  wife,  Jer.  Dummer  esqr.,  Cousin  Sam.  Storke,  Cous.  Carter, 
and  many  more  present.  Sung  out  of  the  1 1 5th  Ps.  2\  staves  from 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  69 

the  nth  to  the  end.  W.  which  I  set.  Each  had  a  piece  of  cake 
and  sack-posset.  Mr.  Pemberton  craved  a  blessing  and  returned 
Thanks  at  eating  the  sack-posset.  Came  away  between  9  and  10. 
Daughter  Sewall  came  in  the  coach  with  my  wife,  who  invited  her 
to  come  in  and  lodge  here  with  her  husband  ;  but  she  refus'd,  and 
said  she  had  promised  to  go  to  her  Sister  Wainwright's  and  did  so. 

A  CHIEF  JUSTICE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WIFE 

June  9,  1718.  .  .  .  Mrs.  D^ n  came  in  the  morning  about 

nine  o'clock  and  I  took  her  up  into  my  chamber  and  discoursed 
thoroughly  with  her  ;  She  desired  me  to  provide  another  and  better 
nurse.  I  gave  her  the  two  last  News  Letters  —  told  her  I  intended 
to  visit  her  at  her  own  house  next  Lecture  Day.  She  said  'twould 
be  talked  of.  I  answered  :  In  such  cases,  persons  must  run  the 
gauntlet.  Gave  her  Mr.  Whiting's  Oration  for  Abijah  Walter,  who 
brought  her  on  horseback  to  town.  I  think  little  or  no  notice  was 
taken  of  it. 

7r.  30.  Mr.  Colman's  Lecture  :  Daughter  Sewall  acquaints  Madam 
Winthrop  that  if  she  pleas'd  to  be  within  at  3.  p.m.  I  would  wait 
on  her.  She  answer'd  she  would  be  at  home. 

Octobr.  3.  Waited  on  Madam  Winthrop  again  ;  'twas  a  little 
while  before  she  came  in.  Her  daughter  Noyes  being  there  alone 
with  me,  I  said,  I  hoped  my  waiting  on  her  mother  would  not  be 
disagreeable  to  her.  She  answer'd  she  should  not  be  against  that 
that  might  be  for  her  comfort.  ...  By  and  by  in  came  Mr.  Airs, 
Chaplain  of  the  Castle,  and  hang'd  up  his  hat,  which  I  was  a  little 
startled  at,  it  seeming  as  if  he  was  to  lodge  there.  At  last  Madam 
Winthrop  came  too.  After  a  considerable  time,  I  went  up  to  her 
and  said,  if  it  might  not  be  inconvenient  I  desired  to  speak  with 
her.  She  assented,  and  spake  of  going  into  another  room  ;  but 
Mr.  Airs  and  Mrs.  Noyes  presently  rose  up,  and  went  out,  leaving 
us  there  alone.  Then  I  usher'd  in  discourse  from  the  names  in  the 
Fore-seat ;  at  last  I  pray'd  that  Catharine  [Mrs.  Winthrop]  might 
be  the  person  assign'd  for  me.  She  instantly  took  it  up  in  the  way 
of  denial,  as  if  she  had  catch 'd  at  an  opportunity  to  do  it,  saying 


/o          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

she  could  not  do  it  before  she  was  asked.  Said  that  was  her  mind 
unless  she  should  change  it,  which  she  believed  she  should  not ; 
could  not  leave  her  children.  I  express 'd  my  sorrow  that  she 
should  do  it  so  speedily,  pray'd  her  consideration,  and  ask'd  her 
when  I  should  wait  on  her  again.  She  setting  on  time,  I  mention 'd 
that  day  sennight.  Gave  her  Mr.  Willard's  Fountain  Open'd  with 
the  little  print  and  verses  ;  saying,  I  hop'd  if  we  did  well  read  that 
book,  we  should  meet  together  hereafter,  if  we  did  not  now.  She 
took  the  book,  and  put  it  in  her  pocket.  Took  leave. 

.  .  .  8r.  12.  Mrs.  Anne  Cotton  came  to  door  ('twas  before  8.) 
said  Madam  Winthrop  was  within,  directed  me  into  the  little  room, 
where  she  was  full  of  work  behind  a  stand  ;  Mrs.  Cotton  came  in 
and  stood.  Madam  Winthrop  pointed  to  her  to  set  me  a  chair. 
Madam  Winthrop's  countenance  was  much  changed  from  what 
'twas  on  Monday,  look'd  dark  and  lowering.  At  last,  the  work, 
(black  stuff  or  silk)  was  taken  away,  I  got  my  chair  in  place,  had 
some  converse,  but  very  cold  and  indifferent  to  what  'twas  before. 
Ask'd  her  to  acquit  me  of  rudeness  if  I  drew  off  her  glove.  Enquir 
ing  the  reason,  I  told  her  'twas  great  odds  between  handling  a  dead 
goat,  and  a  living  lady.  Got  it  off.  I  told  her  I  had  one  petition 
to  ask  of  her,  that  was,  that  she  would  take  off  the  negative  she  laid 
on  me  the  third  of  October ;  She  readily  answer'd  she  could  not, 
and  enlarg'd  upon  it ;  She  told  me  of  it  so  soon  as  she  could  ;  could 
not  leave  her  house,  children,  neighbours,  business.  I  told  her  she 
might  do  some  good  to  help  and  support  me.  Mentioning  Mrs. 
Gookin,  Nath.,  the  widow  Weld  was  spoken  of ;  said  I  had  visited 
Mrs.  Denison.  I  told  her  Yes !  Afterward  I  said,  If  after  a  first 
and  second  vagary  she  would  accept  of  me  returning,  her  victorious 
kindness  and  good  will  would  be  very  obliging.  She  thank'd  me 
for  my  book,  (Mr.  Mayhew's  Sermon),  but  said  not  a  word  of  the 
letter.  When  she  insisted  on  the  negative,  I  pray'd  there  might 
be  no  more  thunder  and  lightning.  I  should  not  sleep  all  night. 
I  gave  her  Dr.  Preston,  The  Church's  Marriage  and  the  Church's 
Carriage,  which  cost  me  6s  at  the  sale.  The  door  standing  open, 
Mr.  Airs  came  in,  hung  up  his  hat,  and  sat  down.  After  awhile, 
Madam  Winthrop  moving,  he  went  out.  Jn°  Eyre  look'd  in,  I  said 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  .  71 

How  do  ye,  or,  your  servant  Mr.  Eyre :  but  heard  no  word  from 
him.  Sarah  fill'd  a  glass  of  wine,  she  drank  to  me,  I  to  her,  She 
sent  Juno  home  with  me  with  a  good  lantern,  I  gave  her  6d.  and 
bid  her  thank  her  mistress.  In  some  of  our  discourse,  I  told  her 
I  had  rather  go  the  Stone-House  adjoining  to  her,  than  to  come 
to  her  against  her  mind.  Told  her  the  reason  why  I  came  every 
other  night  was  lest  I  should  drink  too  deep  draughts  of  pleasure. 
She  had  talk'd  of  Canary,  her  kisses  were  to  me  better  than  the 
best  Canary.  Explain'd  the  expression  concerning  Columbus. 

8r.  20.  .  .  .  Madam  Winthrop  not  being  at  Lecture,  I  went 
thither  first;  found  her  very  serene  with  her  daughter  Noyes,  Mrs. 
Bering,  and  the  widow  Shipreev  sitting  at  a  little  table,  she  in  her 
arm'd  chair.  She  drank  to  me,  and  I  to  Mrs.  Noyes.  After  awhile 
pray'd  the  favour  to  speak  with  her.  She  took  one  of  the  candles, 
and  went  into  the  best  room,  clos'd  the  shutters,  sat  down  upon  the 
couch.  She  told  me  Madam  Usher  had  been  there,  and  said  the 
coach  must  be  set  on  wheels,  and  not  by  rusting.  She  spake  some 
thing  of  my  needing  a  wig.  Ask'd  me  what  her  sister  said  to  me. 
I  told  her,  She  said,  If  her  sister  were  for  it,  she  would  not  hinder 
it.  But  I  told  her,  she  did  not  say  she  would  be  glad  to  have  me 
for  her  brother.  Said,  I  shall  keep  you  in  the  cold,  and  asked  her 
if  she  would  be  within  to  morrow  night,  for  we  had  had  but  a  run 
ning  feat.  She  said  she  could  not  tell  whether  she  should,  or  no. 
I  took  leave.  As  were  drinking  at  the  Governour's,  he  said  :  In 
England  the  ladies  minded  little  more  than  that  they  might  have 
money,  and  coaches  to  ride  in.  I  said,  And  New  England  brooks 
its  name.  At  which  Mr.  Dudley  smiled.  Govr.  said  they  were  not 
quite  so  bad  here. 

Octobr.  24.  I  went  in  the  Hackney  Coach  through  the  Common, 
stop'd  at  Madam  Winthrop's  (had  told  her  I  would  take  my  depar 
ture  from  thence) .  Sarah  came  to  the  door  with  Katy  in  her  arms  : 
but  I  did  not  think  to  take  notice  of  the  child.  Call'd  her  mistress. 
I  told  her,  being  encourag'd  by  David  Jeffries'  loving  eyes,  and 
sweet  words,  I  was  come  to  enquire  whether  she  could  find  in  her 
heart  to  leave  that  house  and  neighbourhood,  and  go  and  dwell 
with  me  at  the  South-end ;  I  think  she  said  softly,  Not  yet.  I  told 


72  READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

her  it  did  not  lie  in  my  lands  to  keep  a  coach.  If  I  should,  I  should 
be  in  danger  to  be  brought  to  keep  company  with  her  neighbour 
Brooker,  (he  was  a  little  before  sent  to  prison  for  debt).  Told  her 
I  had  an  antipathy  against  those  who  would  pretend  to  give  them 
selves  ;  but  nothing  of  their  estate.  I  would  a  proportion  of  my 
estate  with  my  self.  And  I  supposed  she  would  do  so.  As  to  a 
Perriwig,  My  best  and  greatest  Friend,  I  could  not  possibly  have 
a  greater,  began  to  find  me  with  hair  before  I  was  born,  and  had 
continued  to  do  so  ever  since;  and  I  could  not  find  in  my  heart  to 
go  to  another.  She  commended  the  book  I  gave  her,  Dr.  Preston, 
the  Church  Marriage ;  quoted  him  saying  'twas  inconvenient  keep 
ing  out  of  a  fashion  commonly  used.  I  said  the  time  and  tide  did 
circumscribe  my  visit.  She  gave  me  a  dram  of  black-cherry  brandy, 
and  gave  me  a  lump  of  the  Sugar  that  was  in  it.  She  wish'd  me 
a  good  journey.  I  pray'd  God  to  keep  her,  and  came  away.  Had 
a  very  pleasant  journey  to  Salem.  .  .  . 

Nov.  2.  Midweek,  went  again  and  found  Mrs.  Alden  there,  who 
quickly  went  out.  Gave  her  about  |-  pound  of  sugar  almonds,  cost 
3s.  per  £.  Carried  them  on  Monday.  She  seem'd  pleas'd  with 
them,  ask'd  what  they  cost.  Spake  of  giving  her  a  hundred  pounds 
per  annum  if  I  died  before  her.  Ask'd  her  what  sum  she  would 
give  me,  if  she  should  die  first  ?  Said  I  would  give  her  time  to 
consider  of  it.  She  said  she  heard  as  if  I  had  given  all  to  my  chil 
dren  by  deeds  of  gift.  I  told  her  'twas  a  mistake,  Point-Judith 
was  mine  &c.  That  in  England  I  own'd,  my  father's  desire  was 
that  it  should  go  to  my  eldest  son  ;  'twas  2o£  per  annum  ;  she 
thought  'twas  forty.  I  think  when  I  seem'd  to  excuse  pressing  this, 
she  seemed  to  think  'twas  best  to  speak  of  it ;  a  long  winter  was 
coming  on.  Gave  me  a  glass  or  two  of  Canary. 

Novr.  4th.  Friday,  Went  again,  about  7.  o'clock ;  found  there 
Mr.  John  Walley  and  his  wife :  sat  discoursing  pleasantly.  I  shew'd 
them  Isaac  Moses's  [an  Indian]  writing.  Madam  W.  serv'd  com 
fits  to  us.  After  a-while  a  table  was  spread,  and  supper  was  set. 
I  urg'd  Mr.  Walley  to  crave  a  blessing ;  but  he  put  it  upon  me. 
About  9.  they  went  away.  I  ask'd  Madam  what  fashioned  neck 
lace  I  should  present  her  with,  She  said,  None  at  all.  I  ask'd  her 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  73 

Whereabout  we  left  off  last  time  ;  mention 'd  what  I  had  offer'd  to 
give  her ;  Ask'd  her  what  she  would  give  me ;  She  said  she  could 
not  change  her  condition  :  She  had  said  so  from  the  beginning ; 
could  not  be  so  far  from  her  children,  the  Lecture.  Quoted  the 
Apostle  Paul  affirming  that  a  single  life  was  better  than  a  married. 
I  answer 'd  That  was  for  the  present  distress.  Said  she  had  not 
pleasure  in  things  of  that  nature  as  formerly  :  I  said,  you  are  the 
fitter  to  make  a  wife.  If  she  held  in  that  mind,  I  must  go  home 
and  bewail  my  rashness  in  making  more  haste  than  good  speed. 
However,  considering  the  supper,  I  desired  her  to  be  within  next 
Monday  night,  if  we  liv'd  so  long.  Assented.  She  charg'd  me  with 
saying,  that  she  must  put  away  Juno,  if  she  came  to  me  :  I  utterly 
denied  it,  it  never  came  in  my  heart ;  yet  she  insisted  upon  it ; 
saying  it  came  in  upon  discourse  about  the  Indian  woman  that 
obtained  her  freedom  this  Court.  About  10.  I  said  I  would  not 
disturb  the  good  orders  of  her  house,  and  came  away.  She  not 
seeming  pleas'd  with  my  coming  away.  Spake  to  her  about  David 
Jeffries,  had  not  seen  him. 

Monday,  Novr.  7th.  My  son  pray'd  in  the  Old  Chamber.  Our 
time  had  been  taken  up  by  son  and  daughter  Cooper's  Visit ;  so 
that  I  only  read  the  i3Oth.  and  143.  Psalm.  Twas  on  the  account 
of  my  courtship,  I  went  to  Mad.  Winthrop  ;  found  her  rocking  her 
little  Katy  in  the  cradle.  I  excus'd  my  coming  so  late  (near  eight). 
She  set  me  an  arm'd  chair  and  cushion  ;  and  so  the  cradle  was 
between  her  arm'd  chair  and  mine.  Gave  her  the  remnant  of  my 
almonds  ;  She  did  not  eat  of  them  as  before  ;  but  laid  them  away ; 
I  said  I  came  to  enquire  whether  she  had  alter'd  her  mind  since 
Friday,  or  remained  of  the  same  mind  still.  She  said,  Thereabouts. 
I  told  her  I  loved  her,  and  was  so  fond  as  to  think  that  she  loved 
me  :  she  said  had  a  great  respect  for  me.  I  told  her,  I  had  made 
her  an  offer,  without  asking  any  advice ;  she  had  so  many  to  advise 
with,  that  'twas  an  hindrance.  The  fire  was  come  to  one  short  brand 
besides  the  block,  which  brand  was  set  up  in  end  ;  at  last  it  fell  to 
pieces,  and  no  recruit  was  made  :  She  gave  me  a  glass  of  wine. 
I  think  I  repeated  again  that  I  would  go  home  and  bewail  my  rash 
ness  in  making  more  haste  than  good  speed.  I  would  endeavour 


74  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

to  contain  myself,  and  not  go  on  to  sollicit  her  to  do  that  which  she 
could  not  consent  to.  Took  leave  of  her.  As  came  down  the  steps 
she  bid  me  have  a  care.  Treated  me  courteously.  Told  her  she  had 
enter 'd  the  4th  year  of  her  widowhood.  I  had  given  her  the  News- 
Letter  before  :  I  did  not  bid  her  draw  off  her  glove  as  sometime  I 
had  done.  Her  dress  was  not  so  clean  as  sometime  it  had  been. 
Jehovah  jireh ! 

Copy  of  a  Letter  to  Mrs.  Mary  Gibbs,  Widow,  at  Newtown, 
Jany  12th,  1721/2. 

Madam :  Your  removal  out  of  town  and  the  severity  of  the  winter, 
are  the  reason  of  my  making  you  this  epistolatory  visit.  In  times 
past  (as  I  remember)  you  were  minded  that  I  should  marry  you, 
by  giving  you  to  your  desirable  bridegroom.  Some  sense  of  this 
intended  respect  abides  with  me  still ;  and  puts  me  upon  enquiring 
whether  you  be  willing  that  I  should  marry  you  now,  by  becoming 
your  husband.  Aged,  feeble  and  exhausted  as  I  am,  your  favorable 
answer  to  this  enquiry,  in  a  few  lines,  the  candor  of  it  will  much 
oblige  Madam  your  humble  serv*. 

S.  S. 

MADAM  GIBBS. 


ROBERT  BEVERLY 

[Born  in  Virginia  about  1675;  died  1716] 

INHABITANTS  OF  VIRGINIA 

FROM  THE  "  HISTORY  AND  PRESENT  STATE  OF  VIRGINIA,"  BOOK  IV, 
PART  II,  CHAP.  XV 

§65.  I  can  easily  imagine  with  Sir  Josiah  Child,  that  this  as 
well  as  all  the  rest  of  the  plantations,  was  for  the  most  part  at  first 
peopled  by  persons  of  low  circumstances,  and  by  such  as  were  will 
ing  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  a  foreign  country.  Nor  was  it  hardly 
possible  it  should  be  otherwise  ;  for  'tis  not  likely  that  any  man 
of  a  plentiful  estate  should  voluntarily  abandon  a  happy  certainty, 
to  roam  after  imaginary  advantages,  in  a  new  world.  Besides  which 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  75 

uncertainty,  he  must  have  proposed  to  himself  to  encounter  the 
infinite  difficulties  and  dangers  that  attend  a  new  settlement.  These 
discouragements  were  sufficient  to  terrify  any  man  that  could  live 
easy  in  England,  from  going  to  provoke  his  fortune  in  a  strange 
land. 

§  66.  Those  that  went  over  to  that  country  first,  were  chiefly 
single  men,  who  had  not  the  incumbrance  of  wives  and  children 
in  England  ;  and  if  they  had  they  did  not  expose  them  to  the 
fatigue  and  hazard  of  so  long  a  voyage,  until  they  saw  how  it 
should  fare  with  themselves.  From  hence  it  came  to  pass,  that 
when  they  were  settled  there  in  a  comfortable  way  of  subsisting 
a  family,  they  grew  sensible  of  the  misfortune  of  wanting  wives, 
and  such  as  had  left  wives  in  England  sent  for  them ;  but  the  single 
men  were  put  to  their  shifts.  They  excepted  against  the  Indian 
women,  on  account  of  their  being  pagans,  as  well  as  their  com 
plexions,  and  for  fear  they  should  conspire  with  those  of  their  own 
nation,  to  destroy  their  husbands.  Under  this  difficulty  they  had 
no  hopes,  but  that  the  plenty  in  which  they  lived,  might  invite 
modest  women,  of  small  fortunes,  to  go  over  thither  from  England. 
However,  they  would  not  receive  any,  but  such  as  could  carry  suf 
ficient  certificate  of  their  modesty  and  good  behavior.  Those,  if 
they  were  but  moderately  qualified  in  other  respects,  might  depend 
upon  marrying  very  well  in  those  days,  without  any  fortune.  Nay, 
the  first  planters  were  so  far  from  expecting  money  with  a  woman, 
that  'twas  a  common  thing  for  them  to  buy  a  deserving  wife  that 
carried  good  testimonials  of  her  character,  at  the  price  of  100 
pounds,  and  make  themselves  believe  they  had  a  bargain. 

§67.  But  this  way  of  peopling  the  colony  was  only  at  first; 
for  after  the  advantages  of  the  climate,  and  the  fruitfulness  of  the 
soil  were  well  known,  and  all  the  dangers  incident  to  infant  settle 
ment  were  over,  people  of  better  condition  retired  thither  with 
their  families,  either  to  increase  the  estates  they  had  before,  or 
else  to  avoid  being  persecuted  for  their  principles  of  religion,  or 
government. 

Thus  in  the  time  of  the  Rebellion  in  England,  several  good 
cavalier  families  went  thither  with  their  effects  to  escape  the  tyr 
anny  of  the  Usurper,  or  acknowledgement  of  his  title,  and  so 


76  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

again,  upon  the  Restoration,  many  people  of  the  opposite  party 
took  refuge  there,  to  shelter  themselves  from  the  king's  resent 
ment.  But  Virginia  had  not  many  of  these  last,  because  that 
country  was  famous  for  holding  out  the  longest  for  the  royal  family, 
of  any  of  the  English  dominions ;  for  which  reason,  the  Round 
heads  went  for  the  most  part  to  New-England,  as  did  most  of 
those,  that  in  the  reign  of  King  Charles  II.  were  molested  on  ac 
count  of  their  religion,  though  some  of  these  fell  likewise  to  the 
share  of  Virginia.  As  for  malefactors  condemned  to  transporta 
tion,  tho'  the  greedy  planter  will  always  buy  them,  yet  it  is  to  be 
feared  they  will  be  very  injurious  to  the  country,  which  has  already 
suffered  many  murthers  and  robberies,  the  effects  of  that  new  law 
of  England. 

PASTIMES  IN  VIRGINIA 
FROM  BOOK  IV,  PART  II 

For  their  recreation,  the  plantations,  orchards,  and  gardens  con 
stantly  afford  them  fragrant  and  delightful  walks.  In  their  woods 
and  fields,  they  have  an  unknown  variety  of  vegetables,  and  other 
rarities  of  nature  to  discover  and  observe.  They  have  hunting, 
fishing,  and  fowling,  with  which  they  entertain  themselves  an  hun 
dred  ways.  Here  is  the  most  good-nature  and  hospitality  practised 
in  the  world,  both  toward  friends  and  strangers ;  but  the  worst  of 
it  is,  this  generosity  is  attended  now  and  then  with  a  little  too 
much  intemperance.  The  neighborhood  is  at  much  the  same  dis 
tance  as  in  the  country  in  England ;  but  with  this  advantage,  that 
all  the  better  sort  of  people  have  been  abroad,  and  seen  the  world, 
by  which  means  they  are  free  from  that  stiffness  and  formality, 
which  discover  more  civility  than  kindness.  And  besides,  the 
goodness  of  the  roads  and  the  fairness  of  the  weather  bring  people 
oftener  together. 

The  Indians,  as  I  have  already  observed,  had  in  their  hunting 
a  way  of  concealing  themselves,  and  coming  up  to  the  deer,  under 
the  blind  of  a  stalking-head,  in  imitation  of  which  many  people 
have  taught  their  horses  to  stalk  it,  that  is,  to  walk  gently  by  the 
huntsman's  side,  to  cover  him  from  the  sight  of  the  deer.  Others 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  77 

cut  down  trees  for  the  deer  to  browse  upon,  and  lie  in  wait  behind 
them.  Others  again  set  stakes  at  a  certain  distance  within  their 
fences,  where  the  deer  had  been  used  to  leap  over  into  a  field  of 
peas,  which  they  love  extremely ;  these  stakes  they  so  place,  as  to 
run  into  the  body  of  the  deer,  when  he  pitches,  by  which  means 
they  impale  him. 

They  hunt  their  hares  (which  are  very  numerous)  a-foot,  with 
mongrels  or  swift  dogs,  which  either  catch  them  quickly,  or  force 
them  to  a  hole  in  a  hollow  tree,  whither  all  their  hares  generally 
tend,  when  they  are  closely  pursued.  As  soon  as  they  are  thus 
holed,  and  have  crawled  up  into  the  body  of  a  tree,  the  business 
is  to  kindle  a  fire  and  smother  them  with  smoke  till  they  let  go 
their  hold  and  fall  to  the  bottom  stifled ;  from  whence  they  take 
them.  If  they  have  a  mind  to  spare  their  lives,  upon  turning  them 
loose  they  will  be  as  fit  as  ever  to  hunt  at  another  time  :  for  the 
mischief  done  them  by  the  smoke  immediately  wears  off  again. 

They  have  another  sort  of  hunting,  which  is  very  diverting,  and 
that  they  call  vermin-hunting ;  it  is  performed  a-foot,  with  small 
dogs  in  the  night,  by  the  light  of  the  moon  or  stars.  Thus  in 
summer  time  they  find  abundance  of  raccoons,  opossums,  and  foxes 
in  the  corn-fields,  and  about  their  plantations  ;  but  at  other  times 
they  must  go  into  the  woods  for  them.  The  method  is  to  go  out 
with  three  or  four  dogs,  and,  as  soon  as  they  come  to  the  place, 
they  bid  the  dogs  seek  out,  and  all  the  company  follow  immedi 
ately.  Wherever  a  dog  barks,  you  may  depend  upon  finding  the 
game  ;  and  this  alarm  draws  both  men  and  dogs  that  way.  If  this 
sport  be  in  the  woods,  the  game  by  that  time  you  come  near  it  is 
perhaps  mounted  to  the  top  of  an  high  tree,  and  then  they  detach 
a  nimble  fellow  up  after  it,  who  must  have  a  scuffle  with  the  beast, 
before  he  can  throw  it  down  to  the  dogs ;  and  then  the  sport 
increases,  to  see  the  vermin  encounter  those  little  curs.  .  .  . 

For  wolves  they  make  traps,  and  set  guns  baited  in  the  woods, 
so  that,  when  he  offers  to  seize  the  bait,  he  pulls  the  trigger,  and 
the  gun  discharges  upon  him.  What  Elian  and  Pliny  write  of  the 
horses  being  benumbed  in  their  legs,  if  they  tread  in  the  track  of 
a  wolf,  does  not  hold  good  here ;  for  I  myself,  and  many  others, 
have  rid  full  speed  after  wolves  in  the  woods,  and  have  seen  live 


78  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ones  taken  out  of  a  trap,  and  dragged  at  a  horse's  tail ;  and  yet 
those  that  followed  on  horse-back  have  not  perceived  any  of  their 
horses  to  falter  in  their  pace.  .  .  . 

The  inhabitants  are  very  courteous  to  travellers,  who  need  no 
other  recommendation,  but  the  being  human  creatures.  A  stranger 
has  no  more  to  do,  but  to  inquire  upon  the  road  where  any  gentle 
man  or  good  housekeeper  lives,  and  there  he  may  depend  upon 
being  received  with  hospitality.  This  good  nature  is  so  general 
among  their  people,  that  the  gentry,  when  they  go  abroad,  order 
their  principal  servant  to  entertain  all  visitors  with  everything  the 
plantation  affords.  And  the  poor  planters,  who  have  but  one  bed, 
will  very  often  sit  up,  or  lie  upon  a  form  or  couch  all  night,  to 
make  room  for  a  weary  traveller  to  repose  himself  after  his  journey. 

If  there  happen  to  be  a  churl,  that  either  out  of  covetousness, 
or  ill-nature,  would  not  comply  with  this  generous  custom,  he  has 
a  mark  of  infamy  set  upon  him,  and  is  abhorred  by  all. 

SERVANTS  AND  SLAVES   IN  VIRGINIA 
FROM  BOOK  IV,  PART  I 

§  50.  Their  servants  they  distinguish  by  the  names  of  slaves 
for  life,  and  servants  for  a  time. 

Slaves  are  the  negroes,  and  their  posterity,  following  the  con 
dition  of  the  mother,  according  to  the  maxim,  partus  sequitut 
ventrem.  They  are  called  slaves  in  respect  to  the  time  of  their  servi 
tude,  because  it  is  for  life. 

Servants  are  those  which  serve  only  for  a  few  years,  according 
to  the  time  of  indenture,  or  the  custom  of  the  country.  The  cus 
tom  of  the  country  takes  place  upon  such  as  have  no  indentures. 
The  law  in  this  case  is,  that  if  such  servants  be  under  nineteen 
years  of  age,  they  must  be  brought  into  court,  to  have  their  age 
adjudged ;  and  from  the  age  they  are  judged  to  be  of,  they  must 
serve  until  they  reach  four  and  twenty.  But  if  they  be  adjudged 
upwards  of  nineteen  they  are  then  only  to  be  servants  for  the  term 
of  five  years. 

§51.  The  male-servants,  and  slaves  of  both  sexes,  are  employed 
together  in  tilling  and  manuring  the  ground,  in  sowing  and  planting 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  79 

tobacco,  corn,  etc.  Some  distinction,  indeed,  is  made  between  them 
in  their  clothes,  and  food  ;  but  the  work  of  both  is  no  other  than 
what  the  overseers,  the  freemen,  and  the  planters  themselves  do. 

Sufficient  distinction  is  also  made  between  the  female-servants, 
and  slaves  ;  for  a  white  woman  is  rarely  or  never  put  to  work  in 
the  ground,  if  she  be  good  for  anything  else  :  and  to  discourage 
all  planters  from  using  any  women  so,  their  law  makes  female- 
servants  working  in  the  ground  tithable,  while  it  suffers  all  other 
white  women  to  be  absolutely  exempted  :  Whereas  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  a  common  thing  to  work  a  woman  slave  out  of  doors  ; 
nor  does  the  law  make  any  distinction  in  her  taxes,  whether  her 
work  be  abroad,  or  at  home. 

§  52.  Because  I  have  heard  how  strangely  cruel,  and  severe, 
the  service  of  this  country  is  represented  in  some  parts  of  Eng 
land  ;  I  can't  forbear  affirming,  that  the  work  of  their  servants 
and  slaves  is  no  other  than  what  every  common  freeman  does. 
Neither  is  any  servant  required  to  do  more  in  a  day,  than  his  over 
seer.  And  I  can  assure  you  with  great  truth,  that  generally  their 
slaves  are  not  worked  near  so  hard,  nor  so  many  hours  in  a  day, 
as  the  husbandmen,  and  day-laborers  in  England.  An  overseer  is 
a  man,  that  having  served  his  time,  has  acquired  the  skill  and 
character  of  an  experienced  planter,  and  is  therefore  intrusted  with 
the  direction  of  the  servants  and  slaves. 


WILLIAM  BYRD 

[Born  at  Westover,  Virginia,  March  28(?)  1674;  died  at  Westover, 
August  26,  1744] 

NORTH  CAROLINA  FARMING 
FROM  "  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  DIVIDING  LINE  " 

MARCH  loth  1728.  The  Sabbath  happened  very  opportunely  to 
give  some  ease  to  our  jaded  people,  who  rested  religiously  from 
every  work,  but  that  of  cooking  the  kettle.  We  observed  very  few 
cornfields  in  our  walks,  and  those  very  small,  which  seemed  the 
stranger  to  us,  because  we  could  see  no  other  token  of  husbandry 


80  READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

or  improvement.  But,  upon  further  inquiry,  we  were  given  to 
understand  people  only  made  corn  for  themselves  and  not  for 
their  stocks,  which  know  very  well  how  to  get  their  own  living. 
Both  cattle  and  hogs  ramble  into  the  neighboring  marshes  and 
swamps,  where  they  maintain  themselves  the  whole  winter  long,  and 
are  not  fetched  home  till  the  spring.  Thus  these  indolent  wretches, 
during  one  half  of  the  year,  lose  the  advantage  of  the  milk  of  their 
cattle  as  well  as  their  dung,  and  many  of  the  poor  creatures  perish 
in  the  mire,  into  the  bargain,  by  this  ill-management.  Some  who 
pique  themselves  more  upon  industry  than  their  neighbors,  will, 
now  and  then,  in  compliment  to  their  cattle,  cut  down  a  tree  whose 
limbs  are  loaded  with  the  moss  afore-mentioned.  The  trouble  would 
be  too  great  to  climb  the  tree  in  order  to  gather  this  provender,  but 
the  shortest  way  (which  in  this  country  is  always  counted  the  best) 
is  to  fell  it,  just  like  the  lazy  Indians,  who  do  the  same  by  such 
trees  as  bear  fruit,  and  so  make  one  harvest  for  all. 

RUNAWAY   SLAVES    IN   HIDING 
FROM  THE  SAME 

MARCH  nth  1728.  .  .  .  We  had  encamped  so  early,  that  we 
found  time  in  the  evening  to  walk  near  half  a  mile  into  the  woods. 
There  we  came  upon  a  family  of  mulattoes  that  called  themselves 
free,  though  by  the  shyness  of  the  master  of  the  house,  who  took 
care  to  keep  least  in  sight,  their  freedom  seemed  a  little  doubtful. 
It  is  certain  many  slaves  shelter  themselves  in  this  obscure  part  of 
the  world,  nor  will  any  of  their  righteous  neighbors  discover  them. 
On  the  contrary,  they  find  their  account  in  settling  such  fugitives 
on  some  out-of-the-way  corner  of  their  land,  to  raise  stocks  for  a 
mean  and  inconsiderable  share,  well-knowing  their  condition  makes 
it  necessary  for  them  to  submit  to  any  terms.  Nor  were  these 
worthy  borderers  content  to  shelter  runaway  slaves,  but  debtors 
and  criminals  have  often  met  with  the  like  indulgence.  But  if  the 
government  of  North  Carolina  has  encouraged  this  unneighborly 
policy  in  order  to  increase  their  people,  it  is  no  more  than  what 
ancient  Rome  did  before  them,  which  was  made  a  city  of  refuge 
for  all  debtors  and  fugitives,  and  from  that  wretched  beginning 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  8l 

grew  up  in  time  to  be  mistress  of  a  great  part  of  the  world.  And, 
considering  how  fortune  delights  in  bringing  great  things  out  of 
small,  who  knows  but  Carolina  may,  one  time  or  other,  come  to  be 
the  seat  of  some  other  great  empire  ? 

CONVIVIALITY   IN   THE   COLONIES 
FROM  THE  SAME 

MARCH  26th  1728.  Since  we  were  like  to  be  confined  to  this 
place  till  the  people  returned  out  of  the  Dismal,  it  .was  agreed  that 
our  chaplain  might  safely  take  a  turn  to  Edenton,  to  preach  the 
Gospel  to  the  infidels  there,  and  christen  their  children.  He  was 
accompanied  thither  by  Mr.  Little,  one  of  the  Carolina  Commis 
sioners,  who,  to  show  his  regard  for  the  Church,  offered  to  treat 
him  on  the  road  with  a  fricassee  of  rum.  They  fried  half  a  dozen 
rashers  of  very  fat  bacon  in  a  pint  of  rum,  both  which  being  dished 
up  together,  served  the  company  at  once  both  for  meat  and  drink. 
Most  of  the  rum  they  get  in  this  country  comes  from  New  Eng 
land,  and  is  so  bad  and  unwholesome,  that  it  is  not  improperly 
called  "  kill-devil."  It  is  distilled  there  from  foreign  molasses, 
which,  if  skilfully  managed,  yields  near  gallon  for  gallon.  Their 
molasses  comes  from  the  same  country,  and  has  the  name  of  "  long 
sugar  "  in  Carolina,  I  suppose  from  the  ropiness  of  it,  and  serves 
all  the  purposes  of  sugar,  both  in  their  eating  and  drinking.  When 
they  entertain  their  friends  bountifully,  they  fail  not  to  set  before 
them  a  capacious  bowl  of  Bombo,  so  called  from  the  Admiral  of  that 
name.  This  is  a  compound  of  rum  and  water  in  equal  parts,  made 
palatable  with  the  said  "  long  sugar."  As  good  humor  begins  to 
flow,  and  the  bowl  to  ebb,  they  take  care  to  replenish  it  with  sheer 
rum,  of  which  there  is  always  a  reserve  under  the  table.  But  such 
generous  doings  happen  only  when  that  balsam  of  life  is  plenty.  .  .  . 

DENTISTRY   IN   PRIMITIVE   DAYS 
FROM  "  A  JOURNEY  TO  THE  LAND  OF  EDEN  " 

OCT.  Qth  1733.  Major  Mayo's  survey  being  no  more  than  half 
done,  we  were  obliged  to  amuse  ourselves  another  day  in  this  place. 
And  that  the  time  might  not  be  quite  lost,  we  put  our  garments 


12  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

and  baggage  into  good  repair.  I  for  my  part  never  spent  a  day  so 
well  during  the  whole  voyage.  I  had  an  impertinent  tooth  in  my 
upper  jaw,  that  had  been  loose  for  some  time,  and  made  me  chew 
with  great  caution.  Particularly  I  could  not  grind  a  biscuit  but 
with  much  deliberation  and  presence  of  mind.  Tooth-drawers  we 
had  none  amongst  us,  nor  any  of  the  instruments  they  make  use 
of.  However,  invention  supplied  this  want  very  happily,  and  I  con 
trived  to  get  rid  of  this  troublesome  companion  by  cutting  a  caper. 
I  caused  a  twine  to  be  fastened  round  the  root  of  my  tooth,  about 
a  fathom  in  length,  and  then  tied  the  other  end  to  the  snag  of  a 
log  that  lay  upon  the  ground,  in  such  a  manner  that  I  could  just 
stand  upright.  Having  adjusted  my  string  in  this  manner,  I  bent 
my  knees  enough  to  enable  me  to  spring  vigorously  off  the  ground, 
as  perpendicularly  as  I  could.  The  force  of  the  leap  drew  out  the 
tooth  with  so  much  ease  that  I  felt  nothing  of  it,  nor  should  have 
believed  it  was  come  away,  unless  I  had  seen  it  dangling  at  the 
end  of  the  string.  An  under  tooth  may  be  fetched  out  by  standing 
off  the  ground  and  fastening  your  string  at  due  distance  above  you. 
And  having  so  fixed  your  gear,  jump  off  your  standing,  and  the 
weight  of  your  body,  added  to  the  force  of  the  spring,  will  prize 
out  your  tooth  with  less  pain  than  any  operator  upon  earth  could 
draw  it. 

This  new  way  of  tooth-drawing,  being  so  silently  and  deliberately 
performed,  both  surprised  and  delighted  all  that  were  present,  who 
could  not  guess  what  I  was  going  about.  I  immediately  found  the 
benefit  of  getting  rid  of  this  troublesome  companion,  by  eating 
my  supper  with  more  comfort  than  I  had  done  during  the  whole 
expedition. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  83 

JONATHAN   EDWARDS 

[Born  at  East  Windsor,  Connecticut,  October  5,  1703  ;  died  at  Princeton, 
New  Jersey,  March  22,  1758] 

RESOLUTIONS  FORMED  IN  EARLY  LIFE  (EXTRACTS) 

4.  Resolved  never  to  Do,  BE  or  SUFFER,  anything  in  soul  or 
body,  less  or  more,  but  what  tends  to  the  glory  of  God. 

34.  Resolved,  never  to  speak  in  narrations  anything  but  the 
pure  and  simple  verity. 

41.  Resolved,  to  ask  myself  at  the  end  of  every  day,  week, 
month,  and  year,  wherein  I  could  possibly  in  any  respect  have 
done  better. 

43.  Resolved,  never  to  act  as  if  I  were  anyway  my  own,  but 
entirely  and  altogether  God's. 

47.  Resolved,  to  endeavor  to  my  utmost  to  deny  whatever  is  not 
most  agreeable  to  a  good,  and  universally  sweet  and  benevolent, 
quiet,  peaceable,  contented,  easy,  compassionate,  generous,  humble, 
meek,  modest,  submissive,  obliging,  diligent  and  industrious,  chari 
table,  even,  patient,  moderate,  forgiving,  serene  temper  ;  and  to  do 
at  all  times  what  such  a  temper  would  lead  me  to.  Examine  strictly 
every  week,  whether  I  have  done  so. 

52.  I  frequently  hear  persons  in  old  age  say  how  they  would 
live,  if  they  were  to  live  their  lives  over  again  :  Resolved,  that  I 
will  live  just  so  as  I  can  think  I  shall  wish  I  had  done,  supposing 
I  live  to  old  age. 

EXTRACTS   FROM   EDWARDS'S  DIARY 

SATURDAY,  March  2  (1/23)  O,  how  much  pleasanter  is  humility 
than  pride !  O,  that  God  would  fill  me  with  exceeding  great 
humility,  and  that  he  would  evermore  keep  me  from  all  pride ! 
The  pleasures  of  humility  are  really  the  most  refined,  inward,  and 
exquisite  delights  in  the  world.  How  hateful  is  a  proud  man ! 
How  hateful  is  a  worm  that  lifts  up  itself  with  pride !  What  a 
foolish,  silly,  miserable,  blind,  deceived,  poor  worm  am  I,  when 
pride  works ! 


84  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Wednesday,  March  6,  near  sunset.  Felt  the  doctrines  of  elec 
tion,  free  grace,  and  of  one  not  being  able  to  do  anything  without 
the  grace  of  God,  and  that  holiness  is  entirely,  throughout,  the 
work  of  God's  spirit,  with  more  pleasure  than  before. 

********** 

Saturday  night,  April  13.  I  could  pray  more  heartily  this  night, 
for  the  forgiveness  of  my  enemies,  than  ever  before. 

********** 

Thursday,  May  2.  I  think  it  a  very  good  way  to  examine  dreams 
every  morning  when  I  awake  ;  what  are  the  nature,  circumstances, 
principles,  and  ends  of  my  imaginary  actions  and  passions  in  them, 
to  discern  what  are  my  chief  inclinations,  etc. 


SARAH  PIERREPONT,  AFTERWARD  HIS  WIFE 
WRITTEN  ON  A  BLANK  LEAF,  IN  1723 

They  say  there  is  a  young  lady  in  New  Haven  who  is  beloved 
of  that  Great  Being,  who  made  and  rules  the  world,  and  that  there 
are  certain  seasons  in  which  this  Great  Being,  in  some  way  or  other 
invisible,  comes  to  her  and  fills  her  mind  with  exceeding  sweet 
delight,  and  that  she  hardly  cares  for  anything,  except  to  meditate 
on  him  —  that  she  expects  after  a  while  to  be  received  up  where 
he  is,  to  be  raised  up  out  of  the  world  and  caught  up  into  heaven ; 
being  assured  that  he  loves  her  too  well  to  let  her  remain  at  a  dis 
tance  from  him  always.  There  she  is  to  dwell  with  him,  and  to  be 
ravished  with  his  love  and  delight  forever.  Therefore,  if  you  pre 
sent  all  the  world  before  her,  with  the  richest  of  its  treasures,  she 
disregards  and  cares  not  for  it,  and  is  unmindful  of  any  pain  or 
affliction.  She  has  a  strange  sweetness  in  her  mind  and  singular 
purity  in  her  affections  ;  is  most  just  and  conscientious  in  all  her 
conduct ;  and  you  could  not  persuade  her  to  do  anything  wrong 
or  sinful,  if  you  would  give  her  all  the  world,  lest  she  should  offend 
this  Great  Being.  She  is  of  a  wonderful  sweetness,  calmness  and 
universal  benevolence  of  mind  ;  especially  after  this  great  God  has 
manifested  himself  to  her  mind.  She  will  sometimes  go  about  from 
place  to  place,  singing  sweetly ;  and  seems  to  be  always  full  of  joy 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  85 

and  pleasure  ;  and  no  one  knows  for  what.  She  loves  to  be  alone, 
walking  in  the  fields  and  groves,  and  seems  to  have  some  one 
invisible  always  conversing  with  her. 

A  FAREWELL  SERMON  (EXTRACTS) 
PREACHED  AT  NORTHAMPTON,  JUNE  22,  1750 

My  parting  with  you  is  in  some  respects  in  a  peculiar  manner  a 
melancholy  parting ;  inasmuch  as  I  leave  you  in  most  melancholy 
circumstances ;  because  I  leave  you  in  the  gall  of  bitterness,  and 
bond  of  iniquity,  having  the  wrath  of  God  abiding  on  you,  and 
remaining  under  condemnation  to  everlasting  misery  and  destruc 
tion.  Seeing  I  must  leave  you,  it  would  have  been  a  comfortable 
and  happy  circumstance  of  our  parting,  if  I  had  left  you  in  Christ, 
safe  and  blessed  in  that  sure  refuge  and  glorious  rest  of  the  saints. 
But  it  is  otherwise.  I  leave  you  far  off,  aliens  and  strangers, 
wretched  subjects  and  captives  of  sin  and  Satan,  and  prisoners  of 
vindictive  justice ;  without  Christ,  and  without  God  in  the  world, 

Your  consciences  bear  me  witness,  that  while  I  had  opportunity, 
I  have  not  ceased  to  warn  you,  and  set  before  you  your  danger.  I 
have  studied  to  represent  the  misery  and  necessity  of  your  circum 
stances  in  the  clearest  manner  possible.  I  have  tried  all  ways  that 
I  could  think  of  tending  to  awaken  your  consciences,  and  make 
you  sensible  of  the  necessity  of  your  improving  your  time,  and 
being  speedy  in  flying  from  the  wrath  to  come,  and  thorough  in 
the  use  of  means  for  your  escape  and  safety.  I  have  diligently 
endeavored  to  find  out  and  use  the  most  powerful  motives  to  per 
suade  you  to  take  care  for  your  own  welfare  and  salvation.  I  have 
not  only  endeavored  to  awaken  you,  that  you  might  be  moved  with 
fear,  but  I  have  used  my  utmost  endeavors  to  win  you  :  I  have 
sought  out  acceptable  words,  that  if  possible  I  might  prevail  upon 
you  to  forsake  sin,  and  turn  to  God,  and  accept  of  Christ  as 
your  Saviour  and  Lord.  I  have  spent  my  strength  very  much  in 
these  things.  But  yet,  with  regard  to  you  whom  I  am  now  speak 
ing  to,  I  have  not  been  successful ;  but  have  this  day  reason  to 
complain  in  those  words,  Jer.  6  :  29  :  "  The  bellows  are  burnt,  the 
lead  is  consumed  of  the  fire,  the  founder  melteth  in  vain,  for  the 


86  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

wicked  are  not  plucked  away."  It  is  to  be  feared  that  all  my 
labors,  as  to  many  of  you,  have  served  no  other  purpose  but  to 
harden  you ;  and  that  the  word  which  I  have  preached,  instead  of 
being  a  savor  of  life  unto  life,  has  been  a  savor  of  death  unto 
death.  Though  I  shall  not  have  any  account  to  give  for  the  future 
of  such  as  have  openly  and  resolutely  renounced  my  ministry,  as 
of  a  betrustment  committed  to  me :  yet  remember  you  must  give 
account  for  yourselves,  of  your  care  of  your  own  souls,  and  your 
improvement  of  all  means  past  and  future,  through  your  whole 
lives.  God  only  knows  what  will  become  of  your  poor  perishing 
souls,  what  means  you  may  hereafter  enjoy,  or  what  disadvantages 
and  temptations  you  may  be  under.  May  God  in  his  mercy  grant, 
that  however  all  past  means  have  been  unsuccessful,  you  may  have 
future  means  which  may  have  a  new  effect ;  and  that  the  word  of 
God,  as  it  shall  be  hereafter  dispensed  to  you,  may  prove  as  the 
fire  and  the  hammer  that  breaketh  the  rock  in  pieces.  However, 
let  me  now  at  parting  exhort  and  beseech  you  not  wholly  to  forget 
the  warnings  you  have  had  while  under  my  ministry.  When  you 
and  I  shall  meet  at  the  day  of  judgment,  then  you  will  remember 
them  :  the  sight  of  me,  your  former  minister,  on  that  occasion, 
will  soon  revive  them  to  your  memory :  and  that  in  a  very  affect 
ing  manner.  O  do  not  let  that  be  the  first  time  that  they  are 
so  revived. 

You  and  I  are  now  parting  one  from  another  as  to  this  world ; 
let  us  labor  that  we  may  not  be  parted  after  our  meeting  at  the 
last  day.  If  I  have  been  your  faithful  pastor  (which  will  that  day 
appear  whether  I  have  or  no)  then  I  shall  be  acquitted,  and  shall 
ascend  with  Christ.  O  do  your  part  that  in  such  a  case,  it  may 
not  be  so,  that  you  should  be  forced  eternally  to  part  from  me, 
and  all  that  have  been  faithful  in  Christ  Jesus.  This  is  a  sorrowful 
parting  that  now  is  between  you  and  me,  but  that  would  be  a  more 
sorrowful  parting  to  you  than  this.  This  you  may  perhaps  bear 
without  being  much  affected  with  it,  if  you  are  not  glad  of  it ;  but 
such  a  parting  in  that  day  will  most  deeply,  sensibly,  and  dreadfully 
affect  you. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  87 

Having  briefly  mentioned  these  important  articles  of  advice, 
nothing  remains,  but  that  I  now  take  my  leave  of  you,  and  bid 
you  all  farewell;  wishing  and  praying  for  your  best  prosperity.  I 
would  now  commend  your  immortal  souls  to  Him,  who  formerly 
committed  them  to  me,  expecting  the  day,  when  I  must  meet  you 
before  Him,  who  is  the  Judge  of  quick  and  dead.  I  desire  that  I 
may  never  forget  this  people,  who  have  been  so  long  my  special 
charge,  and  that  I  may  never  cease  fervently  to  pray  for  your 
prosperity.  May  God  bless  you  with  a  faithful  pastor,  one  that  is 
well  acquainted  with  his  mind  and  will,  thoroughly  warning  sinners, 
wisely  and  skillfully  searching  professors,  and  conducting  you  in 
the  way  to  eternal  blessedness.  May  you  have  truly  a  burning  and 
shining  light  set  up  in  this  candlestick ;  and  may  you,  not  only 
for  a  season,  but  during  his  whole  life,  and  that  a  long  life,  be 
willing  to  rejoice  in  his  light. 

And  let  me  be  remembered  in  the  prayers  of  all  God's  people 
that  are  of  a  calm  spirit,  and  are  peaceable  and  faithful  in  Israel, 
of  whatever  opinion  they  may  be  with  respect  to  terms  of  church 
communion. 

And  let  us  all  remember,  and  never  forget  our  future  solemn  meet 
ing  on  that  great  day  of  the  Lord  ;  the  day  of  infallible  decision,  and 
of  the  everlasting  and  unalterable  sentence.  AMEN. 


88 


READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND   PRIMER 
ENLARGED 

FOR  THE   MORE  EASY  ATTAINING  THE  TRUE  READING  OF 
ENGLISH  TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED  THE  ASSEMBLY  OF  DIVINES 

CATECHISM 

[The  New  England  Primer,  first  printed  between  1687  and  1690.    To  it  was 
added  John  Cotton's  Shorter  Catechism,  "  The  Milk  for  Babes  "] 


SELECTIONS 


1727 

In  Adam's  Fall 
We  sinned  all. 

Thy  Life  to  mend 
This  Book  attend. 

The  Cat  doth  play, 
And  after  slay. 

A  Dog  will  bite, 
The  Thief  at  Night. 

An  Eagle's  flight, 
Is  out  of  sight. 

The  idle  Fool, 

Is  whipt  at  School. 

As  runs  the  Glass 
Man's  Life  doth  pass. 

My  Book  and  Heart 
Shall  never  part. 

Job  feels  the  rod 
Yet  blesses  God. 


1762 

In  Adam's  Fall 
We  sinned  all. 

Heaven  to  find, 
The  Bible  mind. 

Christ  crucy'd 
For  sinners  dy'd. 

The  Deluged  drown'd 
The  Earth  around. 

Elijah  hid 
By  ravens  fed. 

The  judgement  made 
Felix  afraid. 

As  runs  the  Glass, 
Our  Life  doth  pass. 

My  Book  and  Heart 
Must  never  part. 

Job  feels  the  Rod 
Yet  blesses  God. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD 


89 


Our  King  the  good 
No  man  of  blood. 

The  Lion  bold, 

The  Lamb  doth  hold. 


The  Moon  gives  Light 
In  time  of  night. 


Nightingales  sing, 
In  time  of  Spring. 


Proud  Korah's  troop 
Was  swallowed  up. 

Lot  fled  to  Zoar. 
Saw  fiery  shower, 
On  Sodom  pour. 

Moses  was  he 
Who  Israel's  Host 
Led  thro'  the  Sea. 

Noah  did  view 

The  old  world  &  new. 


The  Royal  Oak  it  was  the  Tree,      Young  Obadius, 
That  sav'd  his  Royal  Majesty.        David,  Josias, 

All  were  Pious. 


Peter  denies 

His  Lord  and  cries. 

Queen  Esther  comes 
In  Royal  state 
To  save  the  Jews 
From  dismal  fate. 

Rachel  doth  mourn 
For  her  first  born. 

Samuel  anoints 
Whom  God  appoints. 

Time  cuts  down  all, 
Both  great  and  small. 

Uriah's  beauteous  Wife, 
Made  David  seek  his  life. 

Whales  in  the  Sea 
God's  Voice  obey. 


Peter  deny'd 

His  Lord  and  cry'd. 

Queen  Esther  sues, 
And  saves  the  Jews. 


Young  pious  Ruth 
Left  all  for  Truth. 

Young  Sam'l  dear 
The  Lord  did  fear. 

Young  Timothy 
Learnt  Sin  to  fly. 

Vashti  for  Pride, 
Was  set  aside. 

Whales  in  the  Sea, 
God's  Voice  obey. 


90          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Xerxes  the  great  did  die  Xerxes  did  die, 

And  so  must  you  &  I.  And  so  must  I. 

Youth  forward  slips  While  Youth  do  chear 

Death  soonest  nips.  Death  may  be  near. 

Zacheus  he  Zaccheus  he 

Did  climb  the  Tree  Did  climb  the  Tree, 

His  Lord  to  see.  Our  Lord  to  see. 

Now  the  Child  being  entred  in  his  Letters  and  Spelling,  let 
him  learn  these  and  such  like  Sentences  by  Heart,  whereby  he  will 
be  both  instructed  in  his  Duty,  and  encouraged  in  his  Learning. 

THE  DUTIFUL  CHILD'S  PROMISES 

I  will  fear  GOD,  and  honour  the  KING. 

I  will  honour  my  Father  &  Mother. 

I  will  obey  my  Superiours. 

I  will  submit  to  my  Elders. 

I  will  Love  my  Friends. 

I  will  hate  no  Man. 

I  will  forgive  my  Enemies,  and  pray  to  God  for  them. 

I  will  as  much  as  in  me  lies  keep  all  God's  Holy  Commandments. 

I  will  learn  my  Catechism. 

I  will  keep  the  Lord's  Day  Holy. 

I  will  reverence  God's  sanctuary. 

For  our  GOD  is  a  consuming  Fire. 

VERSES 

I  in  the  Burying  Place  may  see 

Graves  Shorter  there  than  I ; 
From  Death's  Arrest  no  Age  is  free, 

Young  Children  too  may  die  ; 
My  God,  may  such  an  awful  Sight, 

Awakening  be  to  me  ! 
Oh  !  that  by  early  Grace  I  might 
For  Death  prepared  be. 


COLONIAL  PERIOD  91 

GOOD  CHILDREN  MUST 

Fear  God  all  Day  Love  Christ  alway 

Parents  obey  In  Secret  Pray 

No  False  thing  Say  Mind  little  Play 

By  no  Sin  Stray  Make  no  delay 

In  doing  Good 

LEARN  THESE  FOUR  LINES  BY  HEART 

Have  communion  with  few. 
Be  intimate  with  ONE. 
Deal  justly  with  all. 
Speak  Evil  of  none. 


THE  INFANT'S  GRACE  BEFORE  AND  AFTER  MEAT 

Bless  me,  O  Lord,  and  let  my  food  strengthen  me  to  serve 
Thee,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.  Amen. 

I  desire  to  thank  God  who  gives  me  food  to  eat  every  day  of 
my  life.  Amen. 


ALPHABET  VERSES 
(1791)  (1797) 

Kings  should  be  good  The  British  King 

Not  men  of  Blood.  Lost  States  Thirteen. 

(1825) 

Queens  and  Kings  'Tis  Youth's  Delight 

Are  gaudy  things.  To  fly  their  Kite. 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY   PERIOD 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN 

[Born  at  Boston,  Massachusetts,  January  17,  1706;  died  at  Philadelphia, 
Pennsylvania,  April  17,  1790] 

THE  ALMANACS 

In  1732  I  first  published  my  Almanac,  under  the  name  of 
"  Richard  Saunders ;  "  it  was  continued  by  me  about  twenty-five 
years,  and  commonly  called  "  Poor  Richard's  Almanac."  I  en 
deavored  to  make  it  both  entertaining  and  useful,  and  it  accord 
ingly  came  to  be  in  such  demand  that  I  reaped  considerable  profit 
from  it,  vending  annually  near  ten  thousand.  And  observing  that 
it  was  generally  read,  scarce  any  neighborhood  in  the  province 
being  without  it,  I  considered  it  as  a  proper  vehicle  for  conveying 
instruction  among  the  common  people,  who  bought  scarcely  any 
other  books.  I  therefore  filled  all  the  little  spaces  that  occurred 
between  the  remarkable  days  in  the  calendar  with  proverbial  sen 
tences,  chiefly  such  as  inculcated  industry  and  frugality  as  the 
means  of  procuring  wealth,  and  thereby  securing  virtue ;  it  being 
more  difficult  for  a  man  in  want  to  act  always  honestly,  as  (to 
use  here  one  of  those  proverbs),  "it  is  hard  for  an  empty  sack  to 
stand  upright." 

These  proverbs,  which  contained  the  wisdom  of  many  ages  and 
nations,  I  assembled  and  formed  into  a  connected  discourse,  pre 
fixed  to  the  Almanac  of  1757  as  the  harangue  of  a  wise  old  man 
to  the  people  attending  an  auction.  The  bringing  all  these  scat 
tered  counsels  thus  into  a  focus  enabled  them  to  make  greater  im 
pression.  The  piece,  being  universally  approved,  was  copied  in  all 
the  newspapers  of  the  Continent,  reprinted  in  Britain  on  a  broad 
side,  to  be  stuck  up  in  houses,  two  translations  were  made  of  it  in 

92 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  93 

French,  and  great  numbers  bought  by  the  clergy  and  gentry  to 
distribute  gratis  among  their  poor  parishioners  and  tenants.  In 
Pennsylvania,  as  it  discouraged  useless  expense  in  foreign  super 
fluities,  some  thought  it  had  its  share  of  influence  in  producing 
that  growing  plenty  of  money  which  was  observable  for  several 
years  after  its  publication. 


THE  WAY  TO   WEALTH 

As  CLEARLY  SHOWN  IN  THE  PREFACE  OF  AN  OLD  PENNSYLVANIA  ALMANAC 
ENTITLED  "  POOR   RICHARD  IMPROVED  " 

COURTEOUS  READER  :  I  have  heard  that  nothing  gives  an  author 
so  great  pleasure  as  to  find  his  works  respectfully  quoted  by  other 
learned  authors.  This  pleasure  I  have  seldom  enjoyed  ;  for,  though 
I  have  been,  if  I  may  say  it  without  vanity,  an  eminent  author  (of 
almanacs)  annually,  now  a  full  quarter  of  a  century,  my  brother 
authors  in  the  same  way,  for  what  reason  I  know  not,  have  ever 
been  very  sparing  in  their  applauses  and  no  other  author  has  taken 
the  least  notice  of  me ;  so  that,  did  not  my  writings  produce  me 
some  solid  pudding,  the  great  deficiency  of  praise  would  have 
quite  discouraged  me. 

I  concluded  at  length  that  the  people  were  the  best  judges  of 
my  merit,  for  they  buy  my  works  ;  and,  besides,  in  my  rambles 
where  I  am  not  personally  known,  I  have  frequently  heard  one  or 
other  of  my  adages  repeated  with  "  As  Poor  Richard  says  "  at  the 
end  of  it.  This  gave  me  some  satisfaction,  as  it  showed  not  only 
that  my  instructions  were  regarded,  but  discovered  likewise  some 
respect  for  my  authority ;  and  I  own  that,  to  encourage  the  practice 
of  remembering  and  reading  those  wise  sentences,  I  have  sometimes 
quoted  myself  with  great  gravity. 

Judge,  then,  how  much  I  must  have  been  gratified  by  an  inci 
dent  I  am  going  to  relate  to  you.  I  stopped  my  horse  lately  where 
a  great  number  of  people  were  collected  at  an  auction  of  merchants' 
goods.  The  hour  of  the  sale  not  being  come,  they  were  conversing 
on  the  badness  of  the  times ;  and  one  of  the  company  called  to  a 
plain,  clean  old  man  with  white  locks,  "  Pray,  Father  Abraham, 


94  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

what  think  you  of  the  times  ?  Will  not  these  heavy  taxes  quite 
ruin  the  country?  How  shall  we  ever  be  able  to  pay  them  ?  What 
would  you  advise  us  to  do  ? "  Father  Abraham  stood  up  and  replied, 
"  If  you  would  have  my  advice,  I  will  give  it  to  you  in  short ;  for 
A  word  to  the  wise  is  enough,  as  Poor  Richard  says."  They  joined 
in  desiring  him  to  speak  his  mind,  and  gathering  around  him,  he 
proceeded  as  follows  : 

"  Friends,"  said  he,  "the  taxes  are  indeed  very  heavy,  and  if 
those  laid  on  by  the  government  were  the  only  ones  we  had  to  pay, 
we  might  more  easily  discharge  them ;  but  we  have  many  others, 
and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us.  We  are  taxed  twice  as 
much  by  our  idleness,  three  times  as  much  by  our  pride,  and  four 
times  as  much  by  our  folly ;  and  from  these  taxes  the  commission 
ers  cannot  ease  or  deliver  us  by  allowing  an  abatement.  However, 
let  us  hearken  to  good  advice,  and  something  may  be  done  for  us ; 
God  helps  them  that  helps  themselves,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

I.  "It  would  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  should  tax  its 
people  one  tenth  part  of  their  time,  to  be  employed  in  its  service ; 
but  idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more ;  sloth,  by  bringing  on 
diseases,  absolutely  shortens  life.  Sloth,  like  rust,  consumes  faster 
than  labor  wears,  while  The  used  key  is  always  bright,  as  Poor 
Richard  says.  But  dost  thou  love  life  ?  Then  do  not  squander 
time,  for  that  is  the  stuff  life  is  made  of,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 
How  much  more  than  is  necessary  do  we  spend  in  sleep,  forget 
ting  that  the  sleeping  fox  catches  no  poultry,  and  that  there  will  be 
sleeping  enough  in  the  grave,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  If  time  be  of 
all  things  the  most  precious,  wasting  time  must  be,  as  Poor  Richard 
says,  the  greatest  prodigality ;  since,  as  he  elsewhere  tells  us,  Lost 
time  is  never  found  again,  and  what  we  call  time  enough  always 
proves  little  enough.  Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  be  doing,  and  doing  to 
the  purpose  ;  so  by  diligence  shall  we  do  more  with  less  perplexity. 
Sloth  makes  all  things  difficult,  but  industry,  all  easy ;  and,  He 
that  riseth  late  must  trot  all  day  and  shall  scarce  overtake  his 
business  at  night ;  while  Laziness  travels  so  slowly  that  Poverty 
soon  overtakes  him.  Drive  thy  business,  let  not  that  drive  thee ; 
and,  Early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise,  makes  a  man  healthy,  wealthy, 
and  wise,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  95 

"  So  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  times  ?  We 
make  these  times  better  if  we  bestir  ourselves.  Industry  need  not 
wish,  and  he  that  lives  upon  hopes  will  die  fasting.  There  are  no 
gains  without  pains ;  then  help,  hands,  for  I  have  no  lands ;  or, 
if  I  have,  they  are  smartly  taxed.  He  that  hath  a  trade  hath  an 
estate ;  and  he  that  hath  a  calling,  hath  an  office  of  profit  and 
honor,  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  but  then  the  trade  must  be  worked 
at  and  the  calling  followed,  or  neither  the  estate  nor  the  office  will 
enable  us  to  pay  our  taxes.  If  we  are  industrious,  we  shall  never 
starve  ;  for,  At  the  workingman's  house  hunger  looks  in,  but  dares 
not  enter.  Nor  will  the  bailiff  or  the  constable  enter  ;  for  Industry 
pays  debts,  while  Despair  increaseth  them.  What  though  you  have 
found  no  treasure,  nor  has  any  rich  relation  left  you  a  legacy ; 
Diligence  is  the  mother  of  good  luck,  and  God  gives  all  things  to 
Industry.  Then  plow  deep  while  sluggards  sleep,  and  you  shall 
have  corn  to  sell  and  to  keep.  Work  while  it  is  called  to-day,  for 
you  know  not  how  much  you  may  be  hindered  to-morrow.  One 
to-day  is  worth  two  to-morrows,  as  Poor  Richard  says  ;  and,  further, 
Never  leave  that  till  to-morrow  which  you  can  do  to-day.  If  you 
were  a  good  servant,  would  you  not  be  ashamed  that  a  good  master 
should  catch  you  idle  ?  Are  you,  then,  your  own  master  ?  Be 
ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle,  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done 
for  yourself,  your  family,  your  country,  your  kin.  Handle  your 
tools  without  mittens ;  remember  that  The  cat  in  gloves  catches 
no  mice,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  It  is  true  there  is  much  to  be 
done,  and  perhaps  you  are  weak-handed ;  but  stick  to  it  steadily, 
and  you  will  see  great  effects  ;  for,  Constant  dropping  wears  away 
stones ;  and,  By  diligence  and  patience  the  mouse  ate  in  two  the 
cable  ;  and,  Little  strokes  fell  great  oaks. 

"  Methinks  I  hear  some  of  you  say,  Must  a  man  afford  himself 
no  leisure  ?  I  will  tell  thee,  my  friend,  what  Poor  Richard  says  : 
Employ  thy  time  well,  if  thou  meanest  to  gain  leisure ;  and  since 
thou  art  not  sure  of  a  minute,  throw  not  away  an  hour.  Leisure  is 
time  for  doing  something  useful ;  this  leisure  the  diligent  man  will 
obtain,  but  the  lazy  man  never ;  for,  A  life  of  leisure  and  a  life  of 
laziness  are  two  things.  Many,  without  labor,  would  live  by  their 
wits  only,  but  they  break  for  want  of  stock  ;  whereas  industry  gives 


0          READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

comfort  and  plenty  and  respect.  Fly  pleasures  and  they  will  follow 
you.  The  diligent  spinner  has  a  large  shift ;  and  now  I  have  a 
sheep  and  a  cow,  every  one  bids  me  good  morrow. 

II.  "  But  with  our  industry  we  must  likewise  be  steady  and  care 
ful,  and  oversee  our  own  affairs  with  our  own  eyes,  and  not  trust 
too  much  to  others  ;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says  : 

I  never  saw  an  oft-removed  tree, 

Nor  yet  an  oft-removed  family, 

That  throve  so  well  as  those  that  settled  be. 

And  again,  Three  removes  are  as  bad  as  a  fire  ;  and  again,  Keep 
thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will  keep  thee ;  and  again,  If  you  would 
have  your  business  done,  go  ;  if  not,  send  ;  and  again  : 

He  that  by  the  plow  would  thrive, 
Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive. 

And  again,  The  eye  of  the  master  will  do  more  work  than  both 
his  hands ;  and  again,  Want  of  care  does  us  more  damage  than 
want  of  knowledge  ;  and  again,  Not  to  oversee  workmen  is  to  leave 
them  your  purse  open.  Trusting  too  much  to  others'  care  is  the 
ruin  of  many ;  for,  In  the  affairs  of  this  world  men  are  saved,  not 
by  faith,  but  by  the  want  of  it.  But  a  man's  own  care  is  profitable  ; 
for,  If  you  would  have  a  faithful  servant  and  one  that  you  like,  serve 
yourself.  A  little  neglect  may  breed  great  mischief ;  for  want  of 
a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost,  for  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost,  and 
for  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost,  being  overtaken  and  slain 
by  the  enemy ;  all  for  want  of  a  little  care  about  a  horseshoe  nail. 

III.  "So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to  one's 
own  business ;   but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality,  if  we  would 
make  our  industry  more  certainly  successful.    A  man  may,  if  he 
knows  not  how  to  save  as  he  gets,  keep  his  nose  all  his  life  to  the 
grindstone,  and  die  not  worth  a  groat  at  last.   A  fat  kitchen  makes 
a  lean  will ;  and 

Many  estates  are  spent  in  the  getting, 
Since  women  forsook  spinning  and  knitting, 
And  men  for  punch  forsook  hewing  and  splitting. 

If  you  would  be  wealthy,  think  of  saving  as  well  as  of  getting.  The 
Indies  have  not  made  Spain  rich,  because  her  outgoes  are  greater 
than  her  incomes. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  97 

11  Away,  then,  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will  not  then 
have  so  much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times,  heavy  taxes,  and 
chargeable  families ;  for 

Pleasure  and  wine,  game  and  deceit, 
Make  the  wealth  small,  and  the  want  great. 

And  further,  What  maintains  one  vice  would  bring  up  two  children. 
You  may  think,  perhaps,  that  a  little  tea  or  a  little  punch  now  and 
then,  diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes  a  little  finer,  and  a  little 
entertainment  now  and  then,  can  be  no  great  matter ;  but  remember, 
Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle.  Beware  of  little  expenses  ;  A  small 
leak  will  sink  a  great  ship,  as  Poor  Richard  says  ;  and  again,  Who 
dainties  love  shall  beggars  prove  ;  and  moreover,  Fools  make  feasts 
and  wise  men  eat  them. 

"  Here  you  are  all  got  together  at  this  sale  of  fineries  and  knick- 
knacks.  You  call  them  goods ;  but,  if  you  do  not  take  care,  they 
will  prove  evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect  they  will  be  sold  cheap, 
and  perhaps  they  may  for  less  than  they  cost ;  but,  if  you  have  no 
occasion  for  them,  they  must  be  dear  to  you.  Remember  what 
Poor  Richard  says  :  Buy  what  thou  hast  no  need  of,  and  ere  long 
thou  shalt  sell  thy  necessaries.  And  again,  At  a  great  pennyworth 
pause  awhile.  He  means  that  perhaps  the  cheapness  is  apparent 
only,  and  not  real ;  or,  the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in  thy  busi 
ness,  may  do  thee  more  harm  than  good.  For  in  another  place  he 
says,  Many  have  been  ruined  by  buying  good  pennyworths.  Again, 
It  is  foolish  to  lay  ou:.:  money  in  a  purchase  of  repentance  ;  and 
yet  this  folly  is  practiced  every  day  at  au'ctions  for  want  of  minding 
the  Almanac.  Many  for  the  sake  of  finery  on  the  back  have  gone 
hungry  and  half-starved  their  families.  Silks  and  satins,  scarlet 
and  velvets,  put  out  the  kitchen  fire,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

;'  These  are  not  the  necessaries  of  life ;  they  can  scarcely  be 
called  the  conveniences  ;  and  yet,  only  because  they  look  pretty, 
how  many  want  to  have  them.  By  these  and  other  extravagances 
the  genteel  are  reduced  to  poverty,  and  forced  to  borrow  of  those 
whom  they  formerly  despised,  but  who,  through  industry  and  frugal 
ity,  have  maintained  their  standing ;  in  which  case  it  appears  plainly 
that,  A  plowman  on  his  legs  is  higher  than  a  gentleman  on  his 
knees,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  Perhaps  they  have  a  small  estate  left 


98  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

them  which  they  knew  not  the  getting  of ;  they  think,  It  is  day 
and  it  never  will  be  night ;  that  a  little  to  be  spent  out  of  so  much 
is  not  worth  minding ;  but,  Always  taking  out  of  the  meal  tub  and 
never  putting  in,  soon  comes  to  the  bottom,  as  Poor  Richard  says ; 
and  then,  When  the  well  is  dry,  they  know  the  worth  of  water. 
But  this  they  might  have  known  before,  if  they  had  taken  his  ad 
vice.  If  you  would  know  the  value  of  money,  go  and  try  to  borrow 
some ;  for,  He  that  goes  a-borrowing  goes  a-sorrowing,  as  Poor 
Richard  says ;  and,  indeed,  so  does  he  that  lends  to  such  people, 
when  he  goes  to  get  it  again.  Poor  Dick  further  advises  and  says  : 

Fond  pride  of  dress  is  sure  a  very  curse ; 
Ere  fancy  you  consult,  consult  your  purse. 

And  again,  Pride  is  as  loud  a  beggar  as  Want,  and  a  great  deal 
more  saucy.  When  you  have  bought  one  fine  thing,  you  must  buy 
ten  more,  that  your  appearance  may  be  all  of  a  piece ;  but  Poor 
Dick  says,  It  is  easier  to  suppress  the  first  desire  than  to  satisfy 
all  that  follow  it.  And  it  is  as  truly  folly  for  the  poor  to  ape  the 
rich,  as  for  the  frog  to  swell  in  order  to  equal  the  ox. 

Vessels  large  may  venture  more, 

But  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore. 

It  is,  however,  a  folly  soon  punished  ;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says, 
Pride  that  dines  on  vanity,  sups  on  contempt.  Pride  breakfasted 
with  Plenty,  dined  with  Poverty,  and  supped  with  Infamy.  And, 
after  all,  of  what  use  is  this  pride  of  appearance,  for  which  so  much 
is  risked,  so  much  is  suffered  ?  It  cannot  promote  health  nor  ease 
pain  ;  it  makes  no  increase  of  merit  in  the  person  ;  it  creates  envy  ; 
it  hastens  misfortune. 

"  But  what  madness  must  it  be  to  run  in  debt  for  these  super 
fluities  ?  We  are  offered  by  the  terms  of  this  sale  six  months'  credit ; 
and  that,  perhaps,  has  induced  some  of  us  to  attend  it,  because  we 
cannot  spare  the  ready  money,  and  hope  now  to  be  fine  without  it. 
But  ah !  think  what  you  do  when  you  run  in  debt ;  you  give  to 
another  power  over  your  liberty.  If  you  cannot  pay  at  the  time,  you 
will  be  ashamed  to  see  your  creditor ;  you  will  be  in  fear  when 
you  speak  to  him ;  you  will  make  poor,  pitiful,  sneaking  excuses, 
and  by  degrees  come  to  lose  your  veracity,  and  sink  into  base; 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  99 

downright  lying  ;  for,  The  second  vice  is  lying,  the  first  is  running 
in  debt,  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and  again  to  the  same  purpose, 
Lying  rides  upon  debt's  back  ;  whereas  a  freeborn  Englishman 
ought  not  to  be  ashamed  nor  afraid  to  see  or  speak  to  any  man 
living.  But  poverty  often  deprives  a  man  of  all  spirit  and  virtue. 
It  is  hard  for  an  empty  bag  to  stand  upright. 

"  What  would  you  think  of  that  prince,  or  of  that  government, 
who  should  issue  an  edict  forbidding  you  to  dress  like  a  gentleman 
or  gentlewoman,  on  pain  of  imprisonment  or  servitude  ?  Would 
you  not  say  that  you  are  free,  have  a  right  to  dress  as  you  please, 
and  that  such  an  edict  would  be  a  breach  of  your  privileges  and 
such  a  government  tyrannical  ?  And  yet  you  are  about  to  put  your 
self  under  such  tyranny,  when  you  run  in  debt  for  such  dress. 
Your  creditor  has  authority,  at  his  pleasure,  to  deprive  you  of  your 
liberty  by  confining  you  in  jail  till  you  shall  be  able  to  pay  him. 
When  you  have  got  your  bargain,  you  may,  perhaps,  think  little  of 
payment ;  but,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  Creditors  have  better  memo 
ries  than  debtors  ;  creditors  are  a  superstitious  sect,  great  observers 
of  set  days  and  times.  The  day  comes  round  before  you  are  aware, 
and  the  demand  is  made  before  you  are  prepared  to  satisfy  it ;  or, 
if  you  bear  your  debt  in  mind,  the  term,  which  at  first  seemed  so 
long,  will,  as  it  lessens,  appear  extremely  short.  Time  will  seem 
to  have  added  wings  to  his  heels  as  well  as  his  shoulders.  Those 
have  a  short  Lent  who  owe  money  to  be  paid  at  Easter.  At  present, 
perhaps,  you  may  think  yourselves  in  thriving  'circumstances,  and 
that  you  can  bear  a  little  extravagance  without  injury ;  but 

For  age  and  want  save  while  you  may ; 
No  morning  sun  lasts  a  whole  day. 

Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain,  but  ever,  while  you  live, 
expense  is  constant  and  certain;  and,  It  is  easier  to  build  two 
chimneys  than  to  keep  one  in  fuel,  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  so, 
Rather  go  to  bed  supperless  than  rise  in  debt. 

Get  what  you  can,  and  what  you  get,  hold, 

'Tis  the  stone  that  will  turn  all  your  lead  into  gold. 

And  when  you  have  got  the  philosopher's  stone,  be  sure  you  will 
no  longer  complain  of  bad  times  or  the  difficulty  of  paying  taxes. 


100        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

IV.  "  This  doctrine,  my  friends,  is  reason  and  wisdom  ;  but, 
after  all,  do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  industry  and 
frugality  and  prudence,  though  excellent  things  ;  for  they  may  all 
be  blasted,  without  the  blessing  of  Heaven  ;  and,  therefore,  ask 
that  blessing  humbly,  and  be  not  uncharitable  to  those  that  at 
present  seem  to  want  it,  but  comfort  and  help  them.  Remember 
Job  suffered,  and  was  afterward  prosperous. 

"And  now,  to  conclude,  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school,  but 
fools  will  learn  in  no  other,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  and  scarce  in 
that ;  for,  it  is  true,  we  may  give  advice,  but  we  cannot  give  con 
duct.  However,  remember  this  :  They  that  will  not  be  counseled 
cannot  be  helped ;  and  further  that,  If  you  will  not  hear  Reason, 
she  will  surely  rap  your  knuckles,  as  Poor  Richard  says." 

Thus  the  old  gentleman  ended  his  harangue.  The  people  heard 
it,  and  approved  the  doctrine,  and  immediately  practiced  the  con 
trary,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  common  sermon  ;  for  the  auction 
opened  and  they  began  to  buy  extravagantly.  I  found  the  good 
man  had  thoroughly  studied  my  almanacs,  and  digested  all  I  had 
dropped  on  these  topics  during  the  course  of  twenty-five  years.  The 
frequent  mention  he  made  of  me  must  have  tired  any  one  else ; 
but  my  vanity  was  wonderfully  delighted  with  it,  though  I  was 
conscious  that  not  a  tenth  part  of  the  wisdom  was  my  own  which 
he  ascribed  to  me,  but  rather  the  gleanings  that  I  had  made  of  the 
sense  of  all  ages  and  nations.  However,  I  resolved  to  be  the  better 
for  the  echo  of  it ;  and,  though  I  had  at  first  determined  to  buy 
stuff  for  a  new  coat,  I  went  away  resolved  to  wear  my  old  one  a 
little  longer.  Reader,  if  thou  wilt  do  the  same,  thy  profit  will  be 
as  great  as  mine.  I  am,  as  ever,  thine  to  serve  thee, 

RICHARD  SAUNDERS 

THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  (EXTRACTS) 

PART  I,  CHAP.  I 
FRANKLIN'S  EARLY  INTEREST  IN  BOOKS 

From  a  child  I  was  fond  of  reading,  and  all  the  little  money 
that  came  into  my  hands  was  ever  laid  out  in  books.  Pleased  with 
the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  my  first  collection  was  of  John  Bunyan's 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY-  PKIUOD  101 

works  in  separate  little  volumes.  I  afterward  sold  them  to  enable 
me  to  buy  R.  Burton's  Historical  Collections  ;  they  were  small 
chapmen's  books,  and  cheap,  forty  or  fifty  in  all.  My  father's  little 
library  consisted  chiefly  of  books  in  polemic  divinity,  most  of  which 
I  read,  and  have  since  often  regretted  that,  at  a  time  when  I  had 
such  a  thirst  for  knowledge,  more  proper  books  had  not  fallen  in 
my  way,  since  it  was  now  resolved  I  should  not  be  a  clergyman. 
Plutarch's  Lives  there  was  in  which  I  read  abundantly,  and  I  still 
think  that  time  spent  to  great  advantage.  There  was  also  a  book  of 
De  Foe's,  called  an  Essay  on  Projects,  and  another  of  Dr.  Mather's, 
called  Essays  to  do  Good,  which  perhaps  gave  me  a  turn  of  think 
ing  that  had  an  influence  on  some  of  the  principal  future  events 
of  my  life. 

This  bookish  inclination  at  length  determined  my  father  to  make 
me  a  printer,  though  he  had  already  one  son  (James)  of  that  pro 
fession.  In  1717  my  brother  James  returned  from  England  with 
a  press  and  letters  to  set  up  his  business  in  Boston.  I  liked  it 
much  better  than  that  of  my  father,  but  still  had  a  hankering  for 
the  sea.  To  prevent  the  apprehended  effect  of  such  an  inclination, 
my  father  was  impatient  to  have  me  bound  to  my  brother.  I  stood 
out  some  time,  but  at  last  was  persuaded,  and  signed  the  indentures 
when  I  was  yet  but  twelve  years  old.  I  was  to  serve  as  an  appren 
tice  till  I  was  twenty-one  years  of  age,  only  I  was  to  be  allowed 
journeyman's  wages  during  the  last  year.  In  a  little  time  I  made 
great  proficiency  in  the  business,  and  became  a  useful  hand  to  my 
brother.  I  now  had  access  to  better  books.  An  acquaintance  with 
the  apprentices  of  booksellers  enabled  me  sometimes  to  borrow  a 
small  one,  which  I  was  careful  to  return  soon  and  clean.  Often 
I  sat  up  in  my  room  reading  the  greatest  part  of  the  night,  when 
the  book  was  borrowed  in  the  evening  and  to  be  returned  early  in 
the  morning,  lest  it  should  be  missed  or  wanted. 

And  after  some  time  an  ingenious  tradesman,  Mr.  Matthew 
Adams,  who  had  a  pretty  collection  of  books,  and  who  frequented 
our  printing-house,  took  notice  of  me,  invited  me  to  his  library, 
and  very  kindly  lent  me  such  books  as  I  chose  to  read.  I  now 
took  a  fancy  to  poetry,  and  made  some  little  pieces ;  my  brother, 
thinking  it  might  turn  to  account,  encouraged  me,  and  put  me 


102        READINGS  FRtfM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

on  composing  occasional  ballads.  One  was  called  The  Lighthouse 
Tragedy,  and  contained  an  account  of  the  drowning  of  Captain 
Worthilake,  with  his  two  daughters  ;  the  other  was  a  sailor's  song, 
on  the  taking  of  Teach  (or  Blackbeard),  the  pirate.  They  were 
wretched  stuff,  in  the  Grub  Street  ballad  style ;  and  when  they 
were  printed  he  sent  me  about  the  town  to  sell  them.  The  first 
sold  wonderfully,  the  event  being  recent,  having  made  a  rgreat 
noise.  This  flattered  my  vanity ;  but  my  father  discouraged  me 
by  ridiculing  my  performances,  and  telling  me  verse-makers  were 
generally  beggars.  So  I  escaped  being  a  poet,  most  probably  a 
very  bad  one ;  but  as  prose  writing  has  been  of  great  use  to  me 
in  the  course  of  my  life,  and  was  a  principal  means  of  my  advance 
ment,  I  shall  tell  you  how,  in  such  a  situation,  I  acquired  what 
little  ability  I  have  in  that  way. 

There  was  another  bookish  lad  in  the  town,  John  Collins  by 
name,  with  whom  I  was  intimately  acquainted.  We  sometimes 
disputed,  and  very  fond  we  were  of  argument,  and  very  desirous 
of  confuting  one  another,  which  disputatious  turn,  by  the  way,  is 
apt  to  become  a  very  bad  habit,  making  people  often  extremely 
disagreeable  in  company  by  the  contradiction  that  is  necessary  to 
bring  it  into  practice ;  and  thence,  besides  souring  and  spoiling 
the  conversation,  is  productive  of  disgusts  and  perhaps  enmities 
where  you  may  have  occasion  for  friendship.  I  had  caught  it  by 
reading  my  father's  books  of  dispute  about  religion.  Persons  of 
good  sense,  I  have  since  observed,  seldom  fall  into  it,  except 
lawyers,  university  men,  and  men  of  all  sorts  that  have  been 
bred  at  Edinburgh. 

A  question  was  once,  somehow  or  other,  started  between  Collins 
and  me,  of  the  propriety  of  educating  the  female  sex  in  learning, 
and  their  abilities  for  study.  He  was  of  opinion  that  it  was  im 
proper,  'and  that  they  were  naturally  unequal  to  it.  I  took  the 
contrary  side,  perhaps  a  little  for  dispute's  sake.  He  was  naturally 
more  eloquent,  had  a  ready  plenty  of  words  ;  and  sometimes,  as 
I  thought,  bore  me  down  more  by  his  fluency  than  by  the  strength 
of  his  reasons.  As  we  parted  without  settling  the  point,  and  were 
not  to  see  one  another  again  for  some  time,  I  sat  down  to  put 
my  arguments  in  writing,  which  I  copied  fair  and  sent  to  him. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  103 

He  answered,  and  I  replied.  Three  or  four  letters  of  a  side  had 
passed,  when  my  father  happened  to  find  my  papers  and  read 
them.  Without  entering  into  the  discussion,  he  took  occasion  to 
talk  to  me  about  the  manner  of  my  writing ;  observed  that,  though 
I  had  the  advantage  of  my  antagonist  in  correct  spelling  and  point 
ing  (which  I  owed  to  the  printing-house),  I  fell  far  short  in  elegance 
of  expression,  in  method,  and  in  perspicuity,  of  which  he  con 
vinced  me  by  several  instances.  I  saw  the  justice  of  his  remarks, 
and  thence  grew  more  attentive  to  the  manner  in  writing,  and 
determined  to  endeavor  at  improvement. 

About  this  time  I  met  with  an  odd  volume  of  the  Spectator.  It 
was  the  third.  I  had  never  before  seen  any  of  them.  I  bought  it, 
read  it  over  and  over,  and  was  much  delighted  with  it.  I  thought 
the  writing  excellent,  and  wished,  if  possible,  to  imitate  it.  With 
this  view  I  took  some  of  the  papers,  and  making  short  hints  of 
the  sentiment  in  each  sentence,  laid  them  by  a  few  days,  and  then, 
without  looking  at  the  book,  tried  to  complete  the  papers  again, 
by  expressing  each  hinted  sentiment  at  length,  and  as  fully  as  it 
had  been  expressed  before,  in  any  suitable  words  that  should  come 
to  hand.  Then  I  compared  my  Spectator  with  the  original,  dis 
covered  some  of  my  faults,  and  corrected  them.  But  I  found  I 
wanted  a  stock  of  words,  or  a  readiness  in  recollecting  and  using 
them,  which  I  thought  I  should  have  acquired  before  that  time 
if  I  had  gone  on  making  verses  ;  since  the  continual  occasion  for 
words  of  the  same  import,  but  of  different  length,  to  suit  the 
measure,  or  of  different  sound  for  the  rhyme,  would  have  laid  me 
under  a  constant  necessity  of  searching  for  variety,  and  also  have 
tended  to  fix  that  variety  in  my  mind,  and  make  me  master  of  it. 
Therefore  I  took  some  of  the  tales  and  turned  them  into  verse ; 
and,  after  a  time,  when  I  had  pretty  well  forgotten  the  prose, 
turned  them  back  again.  I  also  sometimes  jumbled  my  collections 
of  hints  into  confusion,  and  after  some  weeks  endeavored  to  reduce 
them  into  the  best  order,  before  I  began  to  form  the  full  sentences 
and  complete  the  paper.  This  was  to  teach  me  method  in  the 
arrangement  of  thoughts.  By  comparing  my  work  afterwards  with 
the  original,  I  discovered  many  faults  and  amended  them  ;  but  I 
sometimes  had  the  pleasure  of  fancying  that,  in  certain  particulars 


104        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  small  import,  I  had  been  lucky  enough  to  improve  the  method 
or  the  language,  and  this  encouraged  me  to  think  I  might  possibly 
in  time  come  to  be  a  tolerable  English  writer,  of  which  I  was 
extremely  ambitious.  My  time  for  these  exercises  and  for  reading 
was  at  night,  after  work,  or  before  it  began  in  the  morning,  or  on 
Sundays,  when  I  contrived  to  be  in  the  printing-house  alone,  evad 
ing  as  much  as  I  could  the  common  attendance  on  public  worship 
which  my  father  used  to  exact  of  me  when  I  was  under  his  care, 
and  which  indeed  I  still  thought  a  duty,  though  I  could  not,  as 
it  seemed  to  me,  afford  time  to  practice  it. 

FROM  PART  I,  CHAP.  II 
SEEKING  HIS  FORTUNE 

My  inclinations  for  the  sea  were  by  this  time  worn  out,  or  I 
might  now  have  gratified  them.  But,  having  a  trade,  and  suppos 
ing  myself  a  pretty  good  workman,  I  offered  my  service  to  the 
printer  in  the  place,  old  Mr.  William  Bradford,  who  had  been 
the  first  printer  in  Pennsylvania,  but  removed  from  thence  upon 
the  quarrel  of  George  Keith.  He  could  give  me  no  employment, 
having  little  to  do,  and  help  enough  already ;  but  says  he,  "  My 
son  at  Philadelphia  has  lately  lost  his  principal  hand,  Aquila  Rose, 
by  death  ;  if  you  go  thither,  I  believe  he  may  employ  you."  Phil 
adelphia  was  a  hundred  miles  further ;  I  set  out,  however,  in  a 
boat  for  Amboy,  leaving  my  chest  and  things  to  follow  me  round 
by  sea. 

In  crossing  the  bay,  we  met  with  a  squall  that  tore  our  rotten 
sails  to. pieces,  prevented  our  getting  into  the  Kill,  and  drove  us 
upon  Long  Island.  In  our  way,  a  drunken  Dutchman,  who  was 
a  passenger  too,  fell  overboard ;  when  he  was  sinking,  I  reached 
through  the  water  to  his  shock  pate,  and  drew  him  up,  so  that 
we  got  him  in  again.  His  ducking  sobered  him  a  little,  and  he 
went  to  sleep,  taking  first  out  of  his  pocket  a  book,  which  he 
desired  I  would  dry  for  him.  It  proved  to  be  my  old  favorite 
author,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim 's  Progress,  in  Dutch,  finely  printed  on 
good  paper,  with  copper  cuts,  a  dress  better  than  I  had  ever  seen 
it  wear  in  its  own  language.  I  have  since  found  that  it  has  been 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  105 

translated  into  most  of  the  languages  of  Europe,  and  suppose  it 
has  been  more  generally  read  than  any  other  book,  except  perhaps 
the  Bible.  Honest  John  was  the  first  that  I  know  of  who  mixed 
narration  and  dialogue  ;  a  method  of  writing  very  engaging  to  the 
reader,  who  in  the  most  interesting  parts  finds  himself,  as  it  were, 
brought  into  the  company  and  present  at  the  discourse.  De  Foe 
in  his  Crusoe,  his  Moll  Flanders,  Religious  Courtship,  Family 
Instructor,  and  other  pieces,  has  imitated  it  with  success,  and 
Richardson  has  done  the  same  in  his  Pamela,  etc. 

When  we  drew  near  the  island,  we  found  it  was  at  a  place 
where  there  could  be  no  landing,  there  being  a  great  surf  on  the 
stony  beach.  So  we  dropped  anchor,  and  swung  round  towards 
the  shore.  Some  people  came  down  to  the  water  edge  and  hal 
looed  to  us,  as  we  did  to  them  ;  but  the  wind  was  so  high,  and 
the  surf  so  loud,  that  we  could  not  hear  so  as  to  understand  each 
other.  There  were  canoes  on  the  shore,  and  we  made  signs,  and 
hallooed  that  they  should  fetch  us  ;  but  they  either  did  not  under 
stand  us,  or  thought  it  impracticable,  so  they  went  away,  and  night 
coming  on,  we  had  no  remedy  but  to  wait  till  the  wind  should 
abate ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  the  boatman  and  I  concluded  to 
sleep,  if  we  could ;  and  so  crowded  into  the  scuttle,  with  the 
Dutchman,  who  was  still  wet ;  and  the  spray  beating  over  the 
head  of  our  boat,  leaked  through  to  us,  so  that  we  were  soon 
almost  as  wet  as  he.  In  this  manner  we  lay  all  night,  with  very 
little  rest ;  but  the  wind  abating  the  next  day,  we  made  a  shift  to 
reach  Amboy  before  night,  having  been  thirty  hours  on  the  water, 
without  victuals,  or  any  drink  but  a  bottle  of  filthy  rum,  the  water 
we  sailed  on  being  salt. 

In  the  evening  I  found  myself  very  feverish,  and  went  in  to 
bed  ;  but  having  read  somewhere  that  cold  water  drank  plentifully 
was  good  for  a  fever,  I  followed  the  prescription,  sweat  plentifully 
most  of  the  night,  my  fever  left  me,  and  in  the  morning,  crossing 
the  ferry,  I  proceeded  on  my  journey  on  foot,  having  fifty  miles 
to  Burlington,  where  I  was  told  I  should  find  boats  that  would 
carry  me  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Philadelphia. 

It  rained  very  hard  all  the  day ;  I  was  thoroughly  soaked,  and 
by  noon  a  good  deal  tired ;  so  I  stopped  at  a  poor  inn,  where  I 


106        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

stayed  all  night,  beginning  now  to  wish  that  I  had  never  left 
home.  I  cut  so  miserable  a  figure,  too,  that  I  found,  by  the  ques 
tions  asked  me,  I  was  suspected  to  be  some  runaway  servant,  and 
in  danger  of  being  taken  up  on  that  suspicion.  However,  I  pro 
ceeded  the  next  day,  and  got  in  the  evening  to  an  inn,  within 
eight  or  ten  miles  of  Burlington,  kept  by  one  Dr.  Brown.  He 
entered  into  conversation  with  me  while  I  took  some  refreshment, 
and,  rinding  I  had  read  a  little,  became  very  sociable  and  friendly. 
Our  acquaintance  continued  as  long  as  he  lived.  He  had  been,  I 
imagine,  an  itinerant  doctor,  for  there  was  no  town  in  England, 
or  country  in  Europe,  of  which  he  could  not  give  a  very  particular 
account.  He  had  some  letters,  and  was  ingenious,  but  much  of  an 
unbeliever,  and  wickedly  undertook,  some  years  after,  to  travesty 
the  Bible  in  doggerel  verse,  as  Cotton  had  done  Virgil.  By  this 
means  he  set  many  of  the  facts  in  a  very  ridiculous  light,  and 
might  have  hurt  weak  minds  if  his  work  had  been  published ;  but 
it  never  was. 

At  his  house  I  lay  that  night,  and  the  next  morning  reached 
Burlington,  but  had  the  mortification  to  find  that  the  regular  boats 
were  gone  a  little  before  my  coming,  and  no  other  expected  to 
go  before  Tuesday,  this  being  Saturday ;  wherefore  I  returned  to 
an  old  woman  in  the  town,  of  whom  I  had  bought  gingerbread 
to  eat  on  the  water,  and  asked  her  advice.  She  invited  me  to 
lodge  at  her  house  till  a  passage  by  water  should  offer ;  and  being 
tired  with  my  foot  traveling,  I  accepted  the  invitation.  She,  under 
standing  I  was  a  printer,  would  have  had  me  stay  at  that  town  and 
follow  my  business,  being  ignorant  of  the  stock  necessary  to  begin 
with.  She  was  very  hospitable,  gave  me  a  dinner  of  ox-cheek  with 
great  goodwill,  accepting  only  of  a  pot  of  ale  in  return  ;  and  I 
thought  myself  fixed  till  Tuesday  should  come.  However,  walking 
in  the  evening  by  the  side  of  the  river,  a  boat  came  by,  which  I 
found  was  going  towards  Philadelphia,  with  several  people  in  her. 
They  took  me  in,  and,  as  there  was  no  wind,  we  rowed  all  the 
way ;  and  about  midnight,  not  having  yet  seen  the  city,  some  of 
the  company  were  confident  we  must  have  passed  it,  and  would 
row  no  farther ;  the  others  knew  not  where  we  were  ;  so  we  put 
toward  the  shore,  got  into  a  creek,  landed  near  an  old  fence,  with 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  107 

the  rails  of  which  we  made  a  fire,  the  night  being  cold,  in  October, 
and  there  we  remained  till  daylight.  Then  one  of  the  company 
knew  the  place  to  be  Cooper's  Creek,  a  little  above  Philadelphia, 
which  we  saw  as  soon  as  we  got  out. of  the  creek,  and  arrived 
there  about  eight  or  nine  o'clock  on  the  Sunday  morning,  and 
landed  at  the  Market  Street  wharf. 

I  have  been  the  more  particular  in  this  description  of  my 
journey,  and  shall  be  so  of  my  first  entry  into  that  city,  that  you 
may  in  your  mind  compare  such  unlikely  beginnings  with  the  fig 
ure  I  have  since  made  there.  I  was  in  my  working-dress,  my  best 
clothes  being  to  come  round  by  sea.  I  was  dirty  from  my  journey; 
my  pockets  were  stuffed  out  with  shirts  and  stockings,  and  I  knew 
no  soul  nor  where  to  look  for  lodging.  I  was  fatigued  with  travel 
ing,  rowing,  and  want  of  rest,  I  was  very  hungry ;  and  my  whole 
stock  of  cash  consisted  of  a  Dutch  dollar,  and  about  a  shilling  in 
copper.  The  latter  I  gave  the  people  of  the  boat  for  my  passage, 
who  at  first  refused  it  on  account  of  my  rowing ;  but  I  insisted  on 
their  taking  it.  A  man  being  sometimes  more  generous  when  he 
has  but  a  little  money  than  when  he  has  plenty,  perhaps  through 
fear  of  being  thought  to  have  but  little. 

Then  I  walked  up  the  street,  gazing  about  till  near  the  market- 
house  I  met  a  boy  with  bread.  I  had  made  many  a  meal  on  bread, 
and  inquiring  where  he  got  it,  I  went  immediately  to  the  baker's 
he  directed  me  to,  in  Second  Street,  and  asked  for  biscuit,  intend 
ing  such  as  we  had  in  Boston  ;  but  they,  it  seems,  were  not  made 
in  Philadelphia.  Then  I  asked  for  a  three-penny  loaf,  and  was 
told  they  had  none  such.  So  not  considering  or  knowing  the  dif 
ference  of  money,  and  the  greater  cheapness  nor  the  names  of  his 
bread,  I  bade  him  give  me  three-penny  worth  of  any  sort.  He 
gave  me,  accordingly,  three  great  puffy  rolls.  I  was  surprised  at 
the  quantity,  but  took  it,  and  having  no  room  in  my  pockets,  walked 
off  with  a  roll  under  each  arm,  and  eating  the  other.  Thus  I  went 
up  Market  Street  as  far  as  Fourth  Street,  passing  by  the  door  of 
Mr.  Read,  my  future  wife's  father ;  when  she,  standing  at  the 
door,  saw  me,  and  thought  I  made,  as  I  certainly  did,  a  most  awk 
ward,  ridiculous  appearance.  Then  I  turned  and  went  down  Chest 
nut  Street  and  part  of  Walnut  Street,  eating  my  roll  all  the  way, 


108        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

and  coming  round,  found  myself  again  at  Market  Street  wharf, 
near  the  boat  I  came  in,  to  which  I  went  for  a  draught  of  the  river 
water ;  and  being  filled  with  one  of  my  rolls,  gave  the  other  two 
to  a  woman  and  her  child  that  came  down  the  river  in  the  boat 
with  us,  and  were  waiting  to  go  farther. 

Thus  refreshed,  I  walked  again  up  the  street,  which  by  this 
time  had  many  clean-dressed  people  in  it,  who  were  all  walking 
the  same  way.  I  joined  them,  and  thereby  was  led  into  the  great 
meeting-house  of  the  Quakers  near  the  market.  I  sat  down  among 
them,  and  after  looking  round  a  while  and  hearing  nothing  said, 
being  very  drowsy  through  labor  and  want  of  rest  the  preceding 
night,  I  fell  fast  asleep,  and  continued  so  till  the  meeting  broke 
up,  when  one  was  kind  enough  to  rouse  me.  This  was,  therefore, 
the  first  house  I  was  in  or  slept  in,  in  Philadelphia. 

Walking  down  again  toward  the  river,  and  looking  in  the  faces 
of  people,  I  met  a  young  Quaker  man,  whose  countenance  I  liked, 
and,  accosting  him,  requested  he  would  tell  me  where  a  stranger 
could  get  lodging.  We  were  then  near  the  sign  of  the  Three 
Mariners.  "  Here,"  says  he,  "  is  one  place  that  entertains  strangers, 
but  it  is  not  a  reputable  house  ;  if  thee  wilt  walk  with  me,  I  '11 
show  thee  a  better."  He  brought  me  to  the  Crooked  Billet  in 
Water  Street.  Here  I  got  a  dinner ;  and  while  I  was  eating  it, 
several  sly  questions  were  asked  me,  as  it  seemed  to  be  suspected 
from  my  youth  and  appearance  that  I  might  be  some  runaway. 

After  dinner,  my  sleepiness  returned,  and  being  shown  to  a  bed, 
I  lay  down  without  undressing,  and  slept  till  six  in  the  evening, 
was  called  to  supper,  went  to  bed  again  very  early,  and  slept 
soundly  till  next  morning.  Then  I  made  myself  as  tidy  as  I  could, 
and  went  to  Andrew  Bradford  the  printer's.  I  found  in  the  shop 
the  old  man  his  father,  whom  I  had  seen  at  New  York,  and  who, 
traveling  on  horseback,  had  got  to  Philadelphia  before  me.  He 
introduced  me  to  his  son,  who  received  me  civilly,  gave  me  a 
breakfast,  but  told  me  he  did  not  at  present  want  a  hand,  being 
lately  supplied  with  one  ;  but  there  was  another  printer  in  town, 
lately  set  up,  one  Keimer,  who,  perhaps,  might  employ  me ;  if  not, 
I  should  be  welcome  to  lodge  at  his  house,  and  he  would  give  me 
a  little  work  to  do  now  and  then  till  fuller  business  should  offer. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  109 

The  old  gentleman  said  he  would  go  with  me  to  the  new 
printer;  and  when  we  found  him,  "Neighbor,"  says  Bradford, 
"  I  have  brought  to  see  you  a  young  man  of  your  business  ;  per 
haps  you  may  want  such  a  one."  He  asked  me  a  few  questions, 
put  a  composing  stick  in  my  hand  to  see  how  I  worked,  and  then 
said  he  would  employ  me  soon,  though  he  had  just  then  nothing 
for  me  to  do ;  and  taking  old  Bradford,  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before,  to  be  one  of  the  town's  people  that  had  a  good  will  for 
him,  entered  into  a  conversation  on  his  present  undertaking  and 
prospects ;  while  Bradford,  not  discovering  that  he  was  the  other 
printer's  father,  on  Keimer's  saying  he  expected  soon  to  get  the 
greatest  part  of  the  business  into  his  own  hands,  drew  him  on  by 
artful  questions,  and  starting  little  doubts,  to  explain  all  his  views, 
what  interests  he  relied  on,  and  in  what  manner  he  intended  to 
proceed.  I,  who  stood  by  and  heard  all,  saw  immediately  that  one 
of  them  was  a  crafty  old  sophister,  and  the  other  a  mere  novice. 
Bradford  left  me  with  Keimer,  who  was  greatly  surprised  when 
I  told  him  who  the  old  man  was. 

Keimer's  printing-house,  I  found,  consisted  of  an  old  shattered 
press,  and  one  small,  worn-out  font  of  English,  which  he  was  then 
using  himself,  composing  an  Elegy  on  Aquila  Rose,  before  men 
tioned,  an  ingenious  young  man,  of  excellent  character,  much 
respected  in  the  town,  clerk  of  the  Assembly,  and  a  pretty  poet. 
Keimer  made  verses  too,  but  very  indifferently.  He  could  not  be 
said  to  write  them,  for  his  manner  was  to  compose  them  in  the 
types  directly  out  of  his  head.  So  there  being  no  copy,  but  one 
pair  of  cases,  and  the  Elegy  likely  to  require  all  the  letter,  no  one 
could  help  him.  I  endeavored  to  put  his  press  (which  he  had  not 
yet  used,  and  of  which  he  understood  nothing)  into  order  fit  to  be 
worked  with  ;  and  promising  to  come  and  print  off  his  Elegy  as 
soon  as  he  should  have  got  it  ready,  I  returned  to  Bradford's,  who 
gave  me  a  little  job  to  do  for  the  present,  and  there  I  lodged  and 
dieted.  A  few  days  after,  Keimer  sent  for  me  to  print  off  the 
Elegy.  And  now  he  had  got  another  pair  of  cases,  and  a  pamphlet 
to  reprint,  on  which  he  set  me  to  work. 

These  two  printers  I  found  poorly  qualified  for  their  business. 
Bradford  had  not  been  bred  to  it,  and  was  very  illiterate ;  and 


no        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Keimer,  though  something  of  a  scholar,  was  a  mere  compositor 
knowing  nothing  of  presswork.  He  had  been  one  of  the  French 
prophets,  and  could  act  their  enthusiastic  agitations.  At  this  time 
he  did  not  profess  any  particular  religion,  but  something  of  all  on 
occasion ;  was  very  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  had,  as  I  afterward 
found,  a  good  deal  of  the  knave  in  his  composition.  He  did  not 
like  my  lodging  at  Bradford's  while  I  worked  with  him.  He  had 
a  house  indeed,  but  without  furniture,  so  he  could  not  lodge  me ; 
but  he  got  me  a  lodging  at  Mr.  Read's  before  mentioned,  who  was 
the  owner  of  his  house  ;  and  my  chest  and  clothes  being  come  by 
this  time,  I  made  rather  a  more  respectable  appearance  in  the  eyes 
of  Miss  Read  than  I  had  done  when  she  first  happened  to  see  me 
eating  my  roll  in  the  street.  .  .  . 


THOMAS   GODFREY 

[Born  at  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  December  4,  1 736 ;  died  in  North  Caro 
lina,  August  3,  1763] 

THE  WISH 

I  only  ask  a  moderate  fate, 
And,  though  not  in  obscurity, 
I  would  not,  yet,  be  placed  too  high ; 
Between  the  two  extremes  I'd  be, 
Not  meanly  low,  nor  yet  too  great, 
From  both  contempt  and  envy  free. 

If  no  glittering  wealth  I  have, 
Content  of  bounteous  heaven  I  crave, 
For  that  is  more 

Than  all  the  Indian's  shining  store, 
To  be  unto  the  dust  a  slave. 
With  heart,  my  little  I  will  use, 
Nor  let  pain  my  life  devour, 
Or  for  a  griping  heir  refuse 
Myself  one  pleasant  hour. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  III 

No  stately  edifice  to  rear ; 
My  wish  would  bound  a  small  retreat, 
In  temperate  air,  and  furnished  neat : 
No  ornaments  would  I  prepare, 
No  costly  labors  of  the  loom 
Should  e'er  adorn  my  humble  room ; 
To  gild  my  roof  I  naught  require 
But  the  stern  Winter's  friendly  fire. 

Free  from  tumultuous  cares  and  noise, 
If  gracious  Heaven  my  wish  would  give, 
While  sweet  content  augments  my  joys, 
Thus  my  remaining  hours  I'd  live. 
By  arts  ignoble  never  rise, 
The  miser's  ill-got  wealth  despise ; 
But  blest  my  leisure  hours  I'd  spend, 
The  Muse  enjoying,  and  my  friend. 


AMYNTOR 

Long  had  Amyntor  free  from  love  remained  ; 
The  God,  enraged  to  see  his  power  disdained, 
Bent  his  best  bow,  and,  aiming  at  his  breast 
The  fatal  shaft,  he  thus  the  swain  addrest  : 

"  Hear  me,  hear  me,  senseless  rover,  — 
Soon  thou  now  shalt  be  a  lover, 

Cupid  will  his  power  maintain  ; 
Haughty  Delia  shall  enslave  thee, 
Thou,  who  thus  insulting  brav'st  me, 

Shall,  unpitied,  drag  the  chain." 

He  ceased,  and  quick  he  shot  the  pointed  dart ; 
Far  short  it  fell,  nor  reached  Amyntor's  heart ; 
The  angry  God  was  filled  with  vast  surprise ; 
Abashed  he  stood,  while  thus  the  swain  replies ; 


112         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Think  not,  Cupid,  vain  deceiver, 
I  will  own  thy  power  ever, 

Guarded  from  thy  arts  by  wine ; 
Haughty  Beauty  ne'er  shall  grieve  me, 
Bacchus  still  shall  e'er  relieve  me, 
All  his  rosy  joys  are  mine ; 
All  his  rosy  joys  are  mine." 


NATHANIEL  EVANS 

[Born  at  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  June  8,  1742;  died  at  Philadelphia, 
October  29,  1767] 

TO  MAY 
FROM  "  POEMS  ON  SEVERAL  OCCASIONS,"  1772 

Now  had  the  beam  of  Titan  gay 
Ushered  in  the  blissful  May, 
Scattering  from  his  pearly  bed, 
Fresh  dew  on  every  mountain's  head ; 
Nature  mild  and  debonair, 
To  thee,  fair  maid,  yields  up  her  care. 
May,  with  gentle  plastic  hand, 
Clothes  in  flowery  robe  the  land ; 
O'er  the  vales  the  cowslip  spreads, 
And  eglantine  beneath  the  shades ; 
Violets  blue  befringe  each  fountain, 
Woodbines  lace  each  steepy  mountain ; 
Hyacinths  their  sweets  diffuse, 
And  the  rose  its  blush  renews ; 
With  the  rest  of  Flora's  train, 
Decking  lowly  dale  or  plain. 

Through  creation's  range,  sweet  May ! 
Nature's  children  own  thy  sway  — 
Whether  in  the  crystal  flood, 
Amorous,  sport  the  finny  brood ; 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD 

Or  the  feathered  tribes  declare 

That  they  breathe  thy  genial  air, 

While  they  warble  in  each  grove 

Sweetest  notes  of  artless  love ; 

Or  their  wound  the  beasts  proclaim, 

Smitten  with  a  fiercer  flame  ; 

Or  the  passions  higher  rise, 

Sparing  none  beneath  the  skies, 

But  swaying  soft  the  human  mind 

With  feelings  of  ecstatic  kind — ;.  •  j.^ 

Through  wide  creation's  range,  sweet  May  I 

All  nature's  children  own  thy  sway. 

Oft  will  I,  (e'er  Phosphor's  light  .  ..-:- 
Quits  the  glimmering  skirts  of  night) 
Meet  thee  in  the  clover  field, 
Where  thy  beauties  thou  shalt  yield 
To  my  fancy,  quick  and  warm, 
Listening  to  the  dawn's  alarm, 
Sounded  loud  by  Chanticleer, 
In  peals  that  sharply  pierce  the  ear. 
And,  as  Sol  his  flaming  car 
Urges  up  the  vaulted  air, 
Shunning  quick  the  scorching  ray, 
I  will  to  some  covert  stray, 
Coolly  bowers  or  latent  dells, 
Where  light-footed  Silence  dwells, 
And  whispers  to  my  heaven-born  dream, 
Fair  Schuylkill,  by  thy  winding  stream  ! 
There  I  '11  devote  full  many  an  hour, 
To  the  still-fingered  Morphean  power, 
And  entertain  my  thirsty  soul 
With  draughts  from  Fancy's  fairy  bowl ; 
Or  mount  her  orb  of  varied  hue, 
And  scenes  of  heaven  and  earth  review; 


114        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 
ODE  TO  MY  INGENIOUS  FRIEND,  MR.  THOMAS  GODFREY 

While  you,  dear  Tom,  are  forced  to  roam, 
In  search  of  fortune,  far  from  home, 

O'er  bays,  o'er  seas  and  mountains ; 
I  too,  debarred  the  soft  retreat 
Of  shady  groves,  and  murmur  sweet 

Of  silver  prattling  fountains, 

Must  mingle  with  the  bustling  throng, 
And  bear  my  load  of  cares  along, 

Like  any  other  sinner  : 
For,  where 's  the  ecstasy  in  this, 
To  loiter  in  poetic  bliss, 

And  go  without  a  dinner  ? 

Flaccus,  we  know,  immortal  Bard ! 
With  mighty  kings  and  statesmen  fared, 

And  lived  in  cheerful  plenty  : 
But  now,  in  these  degenerate  days, 
The  slight  reward  of  empty  praise, 

Scarce  one  receives  in  twenty. 

Well  might  the  Roman  swan,  along 
The  pleasing  Tiber  pour  his  song, 

When  blessed  with  ease  and  quiet ; 
Oft  did  he  grace  Maecenas'  board, 
Who  would  for  him  throw  by  the  lord, 

And  in  Falernian  riot. 

But  dearest  Tom  !  these  days  are  past, 
And  we  are  in  a  climate  cast 

Where  few  the  muse  can  relish ; 
Where  all  the  doctrine  now  that 's  told, 
Is  that  a  shining  heap  of  gold 

Alone  can  man  embellish. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  115 

Then  since  't  is  thus,  my  honest  friend, 
If  you  be  wise,  my  strain  attend, 

And  counsel  sage  adhere  to ; 
With  me,  henceforward,  join  the  crowd, 
And  like  the  rest  proclaim  aloud, 

That  money  is  all  virtue  ! 

Then  may  we  both,  in  time,  retreat 
To  some  fair  villa,  sweetly  neat, 

To  entertain  the  muses ; 
And  then  life's  noise  and  trouble  leave  — 
Supremely  blest,  we  '11  never  grieve 

At  what  the  world  refuses. 


JOHN  WOOLMAN 

[Born  at  Northampton,  New  Jersey,  1720;  died  at  York,  England, 
October  7,  1772] 

CHIEF  EVENTS  DURING  THE  YEARS  1749  TO  1753 
FROM  THE  "JOURNAL,"  1772,  CHAP.  Ill 

About  this  time,  believing  it  good  for  me  to  settle,  and  thinking 
seriously  about  a  companion,  my  heart  was  turned  to  the  Lord,  with 
desire  that  he  would  give  me  wisdom  to  proceed  therein  agreeably 
to  his  will ;  and  he  was  pleased  to  give  me  a  well-inclined  damsel, 
Sarah  Ellis ;  to  whom  I  was  married  the  1 8th  day  of  the  eighth 
month,  in  the  year  1749. 

In  the  fall  of  the  year  1750,  died  my  father,  Samuel  Woolman, 
with  a  fever,  aged  about  sixty  years. 

In  his  lifetime  he  manifested  much  care  for  us  his  children,  that 
in  our  youth  we  might  learn  to  fear  the  Lord ;  often  endeavoring 
to  imprint  in  our  minds  the  true  principles  of  virtue,  and  particularly 
to  cherish  in  us  a  spirit  of  tenderness,  not  only  towards  poor  people, 
but  also  towards  all  creatures  of  which  we  had  the  command. 

After  my  return  from  Carolina,  in  the  year  1746,  I  made  some 
observations  on  keeping  slaves,  which  some  time  before  his  decease 


f-i6         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

I  showed  him.;  He  perused  the  manuscript,  proposed  a  few  altera 
tions,  and  appeared  well 'satisfied  that  I  found  a  concern  on  that 
account.  In  his  last  sickness,  as  I  was  watching  with  him  one  night, 
he  being  so  far  spent  that  there  was  no  expectation  of  his  recovery, 
but  had  the  perfect  use  of  his  understanding,  he  asked  me  concern 
ing  the  manuscript,  whether  I  expected  soon  to  proceed  to  take 
the  advice  of  Friends  in  publishing  it ;  and,  after  some  conversation 
thereon,  said,  I  have  all  along  been  deeply  affected  with  the  oppres 
sion  of  the  poor  negroes  ;  and  now,  at  last,  my  concern  for  them 
is  as  great  as  ever. 

By  his  direction,1 1  had  written  his  will  in  a  time  of  health,  and 
that  night  he  desire1  d  me  to  read  it  to  him,  which  I  did,  and  he  said 
it  was  agreeable  to  his  mind.  He  then  made  mention  of  his  end, 
which  he  believed  was  now  near,  and  signified  that,  though  he  was 
sensible  of  many  imperfections  in  the  course  of  his  life,  yet  his  ex 
perience  of  the  power  of  truth,  and  of  the  love  and  goodness  of  God 
from  time  to  time,  even  until  now,  was  such  that  he  had  no  doubt 
but  that,  in  leaving  this  life,  he  should  enter  into  one  more  happy. 

The  next  day  his  sister  Elizabeth  came  to  see  him,  and  told  him 
of  the  decease  of  their  sister  Ann,  who  died  a  few  days  before. 
He  said,  I  reckon  sister  Ann  was  free  to  leave  this  world  ?  Elizabeth 
said  she  was.  He  then  said,  I  also  am  free  to  leave  it ;  and  being 
in  great  weakness  of  body,  said,  I  hope  I  shall  shortly  go  to  rest. 
He  continued  in  a  weighty  frame  of  mind,  and  was  sensible  until 
near  the  last. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  ninth  month,  in  the  year  1751,  feeling 
drawings  in  my  mind  to  visit  friends  at  the  Great  Meadows,  in  the 
upper  part  of  West  Jersey,  with  the  unity  of  our  monthly  meeting, 
I  went  there,  and  had  some  searching,  laborious  exercise  amongst 
friends  in  those  parts,  and  found  inward  peace  therein. 

In  the  ninth  month  of  the  year  1753,  in  company  with  my  well- 
esteemed  friend  John  Sykes,  and  with  the  unity  of  Friends,  I  trav 
elled  about  two  weeks,  visiting  Friends  in  Buck  County.  We  labored 
in  the  love  of  the  gospel,  according  to  the  measure  received  ;  and, 
through  the  mercies  of  him  who  is  strength  to  the  poor  who  trust 
in  him,  we  found  satisfaction  in  our  visit.  In  the  next  winter,  way 
opening  to  visit  Friends'  families  within  the  compass  of  our  monthly 


THE . 'REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD     _/,.'•  I ;,          1 1 7 

meeting,  partly  by  the  labors  of  two  Friends  from  Pennsylvania, 
I  joined  in  some  part  of  the  work ;  having  had  a  desire  for  some 
time  that  it  might  go  forward  amongst  us. 

About  this  time,  a  person  at  some  distance  lying  sick,  his  brother 
came  to  me  to  write  his  will.  I  knew  he  had  slaves;  and  asking  his 
brother,  was  told  he  intended  to  leave  them  as  slaves  to  his  children. 
As  writing  is  a  profitable  employ,  and  as  offending  sober  people  was 
disagreeable  to  my  inclination,  I  was  straitened  in  my  mind: ;  but  as 
I  looked  to  the  Lord,  he  inclined  my  heart  to  his  testimony. ;< I  told 
the  man  that  I  believed  the  practice  of  continuing  slayerv^tp  this 
people  was  not  right,  and  had  a  scruple  in  my  mind  .against  ;$QJnjg 
writings  of  that  kind;  that,  though  many  in  our  Society, kept  them 
as  slaves,  still  I  was  not  easy  to  be  concerned  in  it,  and  desired  to 
be  excused  from  going  to  write  the  will.  I  spake  to  him" in  the  fear 
of  the  Lord ;  and  he  made  no  reply  to  what  I  said,  but  went  away  : 
he  also  had  some  concern  in  the  practice,  and  I  thought  he  was  dis 
pleased  with  me.  In  this  case,  I  had  a  fresh  confirmation  that  act 
ing  contrary  to  present  outward  interests,  from  a  motive  of  divine 
love,  and  in  regard  to  truth  and  righteousness,  and  thereby  incurring 
the  resentments  of  people,  opens  the  way  to  a  treasure  better  than 
silver,  and  to  a  friendship  exceeding  the  friendship  of  men. 

The  manuscript  before  mentioned  having  laid  by  me  several  years, 
the  publication  of  it  rested  weightily  upon  me ;  and  this  year  I  offered 
it  to  the  revisal  of  Friends,  who,  having  examined  and  made  some 
small  alterations  in  it,  directed  a  number  of  copies  thereof  to  be 
published  and  dispersed  amongst  Friends. 


118         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


SAMUEL  ADAMS 

[Born  at  Boston,  Massachusetts,  September  27,  1722;  died  at  Boston, 
October  2,  1803] 

ON  AMERICAN   INDEPENDENCE  — IN  PHILADELPHIA, 
AUGUST  1,  1776  (EXTRACT) 

COUNTRYMEN  AND  BRETHREN  :  I  would  gladly  have  declined 
an  honor  to  which  I  find  myself  unequal.  I  have  not  the  calmness 
and  impartiality  which  the  infinite  importance  of  this  occasion 
demands.  I  will  not  deny  the  charges  of  my  enemies,  that  resent 
ment  for  the  accumulated  injuries  of  our  country,  and  an  ardor 
for  her  glory,  rising  to  enthusiasm,  may  deprive  me  of  that  ac 
curacy  of  judgment  and  expression  which  men  of  cooler  passions 
may  possess.  Let  me  beseech  you  then,  to  hear  me  with  caution, 
to  examine  without  prejudice,  and  to  correct  the  mistakes  into 
which  I  may  be  hurried  by  zeal. 

Truth  loves  an  appeal  to  the  common  sense  of  mankind.  Your 
unperverted  understandings  can  best  determine  on  subjects  of  a 
practical  nature.  The  positions  and  plans  which  are  said  to  be 
above  the  comprehension  of  the  multitude  may  be  always  suspected 
to  be  visionary  and  fruitless.  He  who  made  all  men  hath  made 
the  truths  necessary  to  human  happiness  obvious  to  all. 

Our  forefathers  threw  off  the  yoke  of  Popery  in  religion ;  for 
you  is  reserved  the  honor  of  levelling  the  Popery  of  politics.  They 
opened  the  Bible  to  all,  and  maintained  the  capacity  of  every  man 
to  judge  for  himself  in  religion.  Are  we  sufficient  for  the  compre 
hension  of  the  sublimest  spiritual  truths,  and  unequal  to  material 
and  temporal  ones  ?  Heaven  hath  trusted  us  with  the  management 
of  things  for  eternity,  and  man  denies  us  ability  to  judge  of  the 
present,  or  to  know  from  our  feelings  the  experience  that  will 
make  us  happy.  "  You  can  discern,"  say  they,  "objects  distant 
and  remote,  but  cannot  perceive  those  within  your  grasp.  Let  us 
have  the  distribution  of  present  goods,  and  cut  out  and  manage  as 
you  please  the  interests  of  futurity."  This  day,  I  trust,  the  reign 
of  political  Protestantism  will  commence.  We  have  explored  the 
temple  of  royalty,  and  found  that  the  idol  we  have  bowed  down  to, 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  119 

has  eyes  which  see  not,  ears  that  hear  not  our  prayers,  and  a  heart 
like  the  nether  millstone.  We  have  this  day  restored  the  Sover 
eign,  to  whom  alone  men  ought  to  be  obedient.  He  reigns  in 
heaven,  and  with  a  propitious  eye  beholds  His  subjects  assuming 
that  freedom  of  thought  and  dignity  of  self -direction  which  He 
bestowed  upon  them.  From  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun,  may 
His  kingdom  come. 

JAMES   OTIS 

[Born  at  Barnstable,  Massachusetts,  February  5,  1725  ;  died  at  Andover, 
Massachusetts,  May  23,  1783] 

ON   THE  WRITS  OF  ASSISTANCE  — BEFORE  THE   SUPERIOR 
COURT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  FEBRUARY,  1761  (EXTRACT) 

MAY  IT  PLEASE  YOUR  HONORS  :  I  was  desired  by  one  of  the 
court  to  look  into  the  books,  and  consider  the  question  now  before 
them  concerning  Writs  of  Assistance.  I  have  accordingly  consid 
ered  it,  and  appear  not  only  in  obedience  to  your  order,  but  likewise 
in  behalf  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  town,  who  have  presented  an 
other  petition,  and  out  of  regard  to  the  liberties  of  the  subject. 
And  I  take  this  opportunity  to  declare,  that  whether  under  a  fee 
or  not  (for  in  such  a  cause  as  this  I  despise  a  fee),  I  will  to  my 
dying  day  oppose  with  all  the  powers  and  faculties  God  has  given 
me,  all  such  instruments  of  slavery  on  the  one  hand  and  villainy 
on  the  other,  as  this  writ  of  assistance  is. 

It  appears  to  me  the  worst  instrument  of  arbitrary  power,  the 
most  destructive  of  English  liberty  and  the  fundamental  principles 
of  law,  that  ever  was  found  in  an  English  law-book.  I  must  there 
fore  beg  your  honors'  patience  and  attention  to  the  whole  range  of 
an  argument,  that  may  perhaps  appear  uncommon  in  many  things, 
as  well  as  to  points  of  learning  that  are  more  remote  and  unusual ; 
that  the  whole  tendency  of  my  design  may  the  more  easily  be 
perceived,  the  conclusions  better  descend,  and  the  force  of  them 
be  better  felt.  I  shall  not  think  much  of  my  pains  in  this  cause, 
as  I  engage  in  it  from  principle.  I  was  solicited  to  argue  this 
cause  as  Advocate-General ;  and  because  I  would  not,  I  have  been 
charged  with  desertion  from  my  office.  To  this  charge  I  can  give 


120         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

a  very  sufficient  answer.  I  renounce  that  office,  and  I  argue  this 
cause  from  the  same  principle  ;  and  I  argue  it  with  the  greater 
pleasure,  as  it  is  in  favor  of  British  liberty,  at  a  time  when  we  hear 
the  greatest  monarch  upon  earth  declaring  from  his  throne  that  he 
glories  in  the  name  of  Briton,  and  that  the  privileges  of  his  people 
are  dearer  to  him  than  the  most  valuable  prerogatives  of  his  crown  ; 
and  as  it  is  in  opposition  to  a  kind  of  power,  the  exercise  of  which 
in  former  periods  of  history  cost  one  king  of  England  his  head, 
and  another  his  throne.  I  have  taken  more  pains  in  this  cause 
than  I  ever  will  take  again,  although  my  engaging  in  this  and  an 
other  popular  cause  has  raised  much  resentment.  But  I  think  I 
can  sincerely  declare,  that  I  cheerfully  submit  myself  to  every 
odious  name  for  conscience'  sake  ;  and  from  my  soul  I  despise  all 
those  whose  guilt,  malice,  or  folly  has  made  them  my  foes.  Let 
the  consequences  be  what  they  will,  I  am  determined  to  proceed. 
The  only  principles  of  public  conduct,  that  are  worthy  of  a  gentle 
man  or  a  man,  are  to  sacrifice  estate,  ease,  health,  and  applause, 
and  even  life,  to  the  sacred  calls  of  his  country. 

These  manly  sentiments,  in  private  life,  make  the  good  citizens  ; 
in  public  life,  the-  patriot  and  the  hero.  I  do  not  say  that,  when 
brought  to  the  test,  I  shall  be  invincible.  I  pray  God  that  I  may 
never  be  brought  to  the  melancholy  trial,  but  if  ever  I  should,  it 
will  be  then  known  how  far  I  can  reduce  to, practice  principles 
which  I  know  to  be  founded  in  truth.  In  the  meantime  I  will 
proceed  to  the  subject  of  this  writ. 
*\  i.  j  /I/  .".'  *  7  Y  •  :  . ' ";  '.  i  .  '. 

PATRICK  HENRY 

[Born  at  Studley,  Virginia,  May  29,  .1736;  died  at  Red  Hill,  Virginia, 
-irifft  .  June ,6,. 1 799]  :v 


SPEECH    IN  THE  CONVENTION   OF  DELEGATES,   MARCH  28, 
1775  (EXTRACTS) 

MR.  PRESIDENT:  No  man  thinks  more  highly  than  I  do  of:  the 
patriotism,  as  well  as  abilities,  of  the  very  worthy  gentlemen  who 
have  just  addressed  the  House.  But  different  men  often  see  the 
same  subjects  in  different  lights;  and,  therefore,  I  hope  that  it 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  121 

will  not  be  thought  disrespectful  to  those  gentlemen,  if,  entertain 
ing  as  I  do,  opinions  of  a  character  very  opposite  to  theirs,  I  shall 
speak  forth  my  sentiments  freely  and  without  reserve.  This  is  not 
time  for  ceremony.  The  question  before  the  House  is  one  of  awful 
moment  to  the  country.  For  my  own  part  I  consider  it  as  nothing 
less  than  a  question  of  freedom  or  slavery ;  and  in  proportion  to 
the  magnitude  of  the  subject  ought  to  be  the  freedom  of  debate. 
It  is  only  in  this  way  that  we  can  hope  to  arrive  at  truth,  and  ful 
fil  the  great  responsibility  which  we  hold  to  God  and  our  country. 
Should  I  keep  back  my  opinions  at  such  a  time,  through  fear  of 
giving  offence,  I  should  consider  myself  as  guilty  of  treason  toward 
my  country,  and  of  an  act  of  disloyalty  toward  the  majesty  of  heaven, 
which  I  revere  above  all  earthly  kings. 

Mr.  President,  it  is  natural  to  man  to  indulge  in  the  illusions 
of  hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a  painful  truth,  and 
listen  to  the  song  of  that  siren,  till  she  transforms  us  into  beasts. 
Is  this  the  part  of  wise  men,  engaged  in  a  great  and  arduous 
struggle  for  liberty  ?  Are  we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of 
those  who,  having  eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the 
things  which  so  nearly  concern  their  temporal  salvation  ?  For  my 
part,  whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  may  cost,  I  am  willing  to  know 
the  whole  truth  ;  to  know  the  worst  and  to  provide  for  it. 

I  have  but  one  lamp  by  which  my  feet  are  guided,  and  that  is 
the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of  judging  of  the  future 
but  by  the  past.  And  judging  by  the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what 
there  has  been  in  the  conduct  of  the  British  ministry  for  the  last 
ten  years,  to  justify  those  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been 
pleased  to  solace  themselves  and  the  House.  Is  it  that  insidious 
smile  with  which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received  ?  Trust  it 
not,  sir ;  it  will  prove  a  snare  to  your  feet.  Suffer  not  yourselves 
to  be  betrayed  with  a  kiss.  Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  re 
ception  of  our  petition  comports  with  these  warlike  preparations 
which  cover  our  waters  and  darken  our  land.  Are  fleets  and  armies 
necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and  reconciliation?  Have  we  shown 
ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be  reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called 
in  to  win  back  our  love  ?  Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves,  sir.  These 
are  the  implements  of  war  and  subjugation  ;  the  last  arguments 


122         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

to  which  kings  resort.  I  ask  gentlemen,  sir,  what  means  this  mar 
tial  array,  if  its  purpose  is  not  to  force  us  to  submission  ?  Can 
gentlemen  assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it?  Has  Great 
Britain  any  enemy,  in  this  quarter  of  the  world,  to  call  for  all  this 
accumulation  of  navies  and  armies  ?  No,  sir,  she  has  none.  They 
are  meant  for  us ;  they  can  be  meant  for  no  other.  They  are  sent 
over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon  us  those  chains  which  the  British  min 
istry  have  been  so  long  forging.  And  what  have  we  to  oppose 
them  ?  Shall  we  try  argument  ?  Sir,  we  have  been  trying  that  for 
the  last  ten  years.  Have  we  anything  new  to  offer  on  the  subject? 
Nothing.  We  have  held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of  which  it 
is  capable  ;  but  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  Shall  we  resort  to  entreaty 
and  humble  supplication  ?  What  terms  shall  we  find  which  have 
not  been  already  exhausted  ?  Let  us  not,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  de 
ceive  ourselves  longer.  Sir,  we  have  done  everything  that  could 
be  done,  to  avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have 
petitioned  ;  we  have  remonstrated  ;  we  have  supplicated  ;  we  have 
prostrated  ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  inter 
position  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and  parlia 
ment.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted ;  our  remonstrances  have 
produced  additional  violence  and  insult ;  our  supplications  have 
been  disregarded ;  and  we  have  been  spurned,  with  contempt, 
from  the  foot  of  the  throne.  In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we 
indulge  the  fond  hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no 
longer  any  room  for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free  —  if  we  mean 
to  preserve  inviolate  those  inestimable  privileges  for  which  we  have 
been  so  long  contending  —  if  we  mean  not  basely  to  abandon  the 
noble  struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so  long  engaged,  and  which 
we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon  until  the  glorious  ob 
ject  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained,  we  must  fight !  I  repeat  it, 
sir,  we  must  fight !  An  appeal  to  arms  and  to  the  God  of  Hosts 
is  all  that  is  left  us ! 

********** 

It  is  vain,  sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may  cry 
peace,  peace  —  but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actually  begun  ! 
The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north  will  bring  to  our  ears 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  123 

the  clash  of  resounding  arms !  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the 
field !  Why  stand  we  here  idle  ?  What  is  it  that  gentlemen  wish  ? 
What  would  they  have  ?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as 
to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid  it, 
Almighty  God !  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take ;  but 
as  for  me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death ! 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

[Born  in  Westmoreland  County,  Virginia,  February  22,  i  732  ;  died  at  Mount 
Vernon,  Virginia,  December  1 4,  i  799] 

SPEECH  IN  CONGRESS  ON  HIS  BEING  MADE  COMMANDER- 
IN-CHIEF,  JUNE  16,  1775 

TO  THE  PRESIDENT  OF  CONGRESS 

MR.  PRESIDENT  :  Though  I  am  truly  sensible  of  the  high  honor 
done  me,  in  this  appointment,  yet  I  feel  great  distress,  from  a  con 
sciousness  that  my  abilities  and  military  experience  may  not  be 
equal  to  the  extensive  and  important  trust.  However,  as  the  Con 
gress  desire  it,  I  will  enter  upon  the  momentous  duty,  and  exert 
every  power  I  possess  in  their  service,  and  for  the  support  of  the 
glorious  cause.  I  beg  they  will  accept  my  most  cordial  thanks  for 
this  distinguished  testimony  of  their  approbation. 

But,  lest  some  unlucky  event  should  happen,  unfavorable  to  my 
reputation,  I  beg  it  may  be  remembered  by  every  gentleman  in 
the  room,  that  I,  this  day,  declare  with  the  utmost  sincerity,  I  do 
not  think  myself  equal  to  the  command  I  am  honored  with. 

As  to  pay,  sir,  I  beg  leave  to  assure  the  Congress,  that,  as  no 
pecuniary  consideration  could  have  tempted  me  to  accept  this 
arduous  employment  at  the  expense  of  my  domestic  ease  and 
happiness,  I  do  not  wish  to  make  any  profit  from  it.  I  will  keep 
an  exact  account  of  my  expenses.  Those,  I  doubt  not,  they  will 
discharge ;  and  that  is  all  I  desire. 


124        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

LETTER  TO  HIS  WIFE  UPON  BEING  MADE  COMMANDER- 
IN-CHIEF  OF  THE  ARMY 

TO  MRS.  MARTHA  WASHINGTON 

MY  DEAREST  :  I  am  now  set  down  to  write  to  you  on  a  subject 
which  fills  me  with  inexpressible  concern,  and  _this  concern  is 
greatly  aggravated  and  increased  when  I  reflect  upon  the  uneasi 
ness  I  know  it  will  give  you.  It  has  been  determined  in  Congress, 
that  the  whole  army  raised  for  the  defence  of  the  American  cause 
shall  be  put  under  my  care,  and  that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  pro 
ceed  immediately  to  Boston  to  take  upon  me  the  command  of  it. 

You  may  believe  me,  my  dear  Patsy,  when  I  assure  you  in  the 
most  solemn  manner,  that,  so  far  from  seeking  this  appointment, 
I  have  used  every  endeavor  in  my  power  to  avoid  it,  not  only  from 
my  unwillingness  to  part  with  you  and  the  family,  but  from  a  con 
sciousness  of  its  being  a  trust  too  great  for  my  capacity,  and  that 
I  should  enjoy  more  real  happiness  in  one  month  with  you  at 
home,  than  I  have  the  most  distant  prospect  of  finding  abroad,  if 
my  stay  were  to  be  seven  times  seven  years.  But  as  it  has  been  a 
kind  of  destiny  that  has  thrown  me  upon  this  service,  I  shall  hope 
that  my  undertaking  it  is  designed  to  answer  some  good  purpose. 
You  might,  and  I  suppose  did  perceive,  from  the  tenor  of  my 
letters,  that  I  was  apprehensive  I  could  not  avoid  this  appoint 
ment,  as  I  did  not  pretend  to  intimate  when  I  should  return. 
That  was  the  case.  It  was  utterly  out  of  my  power  to  refuse  this 
appointment  without  exposing  my  character  to  such  censures  as 
would  have  reflected  dishonor  upon  myself,  and  given  pain  to  my 
friends.  This,  I  am  sure,  could  not,  and  ought  not,  to  be  pleasing 
to  you,  and  must  have  lessened  me  considerably  in  my  own  esteem. 
I  shall  rely,  therefore,  confidently  on  that  Providence  which  has 
heretofore  preserved  and  been  bountiful  to  me,  not  doubting  but 
that  I  shall  return  safe  to  you  in  the  fall.  I  shall  feel  no  pain 
from  the  toil  or  the  danger  of  the  campaign ;  my  unhappiness 
will  flow  from  the  uneasiness  I  know  you  will  feel  from  being  left 
alone.  I  therefore  beg  that  you  will  summon  your  whole  fortitude, 
and  pass  your  time  as  agreeably  as  possible.  Nothing  will  give 
me  so  much  sincere  satisfaction  as  to  hear  this,  and  to  hear  it 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  125 

from  your  own  pen.  My  earnest  and  ardent  desire  is,  that  you 
would  pursue  any  plan  that  is  most  likely  to  produce  content  and 
a  tolerable  degree  of  tranquillity ;  as  it  must  add  greatly  to  my 
uneasy  feelings  to  hear  that  you  are  dissatisfied  or  complaining  at 
what  I  really  could  not  avoid. 

As  life  is  always  uncertain,  and  common  prudence  dictates  to 
every  man  the  necessity  of  settling  his  temporal  concerns  while  it 
is  in  his  power,  and  while  the  mind  is  calm  and  undisturbed,  I 
have,  since  I  came  to  this  place  (for  I  had  not  time  to  do  it  before 
I  left  home),  got  Colonel  Pendleton  to  draft  a  will  for  me,  by  the 
directions  I  gave  him,  which  I  will  now  enclose.  The  provision 
made  for  you  in  case  of  my  death,  will,  I  hope,  be  agreeable. 

I  shall  add  nothing  more,  as  I  have  several  letters  to  write,  but 
to  desire  that  you  will  remember  me  to  your  friends,  and  to  assure 
you  that  I  am,  with  the  most  unfeigned  regard,  my  dear  Patsy, 
your  affectionate,  &c. 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON 

[Born  at  Shadwell,  Virginia,  April  3,  1743  ;  died  at  Monticello,  Virginia, 

July  4,  1826] 

INAUGURAL  ADDRESS,  AS   PRESIDENT  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES,   MARCH  4,  1801  (EXTRACT) 

FRIENDS  AND  FELLOW-CITIZENS  :  Called  upon  to  undertake 
the  duties  of  the  first  executive  office  of  our  country,  I  avail  myself 
of  the  presence  of  that  portion  of  my  fellow-citizens  which  is  here 
assembled,  to  express  my  grateful  thanks  for  the  favor  with  which 
they  have  been  pleased  to  look  toward  me,  to  declare  a  sincere 
consciousness  that  the  task  is  above  my  talents,  and  that  I  approach 
it  with  those  anxious  and  awful  presentiments,  which  the  greatness 
of  the  charge,  and  the  weakness  of  my  powers,  so  justly  inspire. 
A  rising  nation,  spread  over  a  wide  and  fruitful  land,  traversing 
all  the  seas  with  the  rich  productions  of  their  industry,  engaged  in 
commerce  with  nations  who  feel  power  and  forget  right,  advanc 
ing  rapidly  to  destinies  beyond  the  reach  of  mortal  eye  ;  when  I 
contemplate  these  transcendent  objects,  and  see  the  honor,  the 


126        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

happiness,  and  the  hopes  of  this  beloved  country  committed  to  the 
issue  and  the  auspices  of  this  day,  I  shrink  from  the  contempla 
tion,  and  humble  myself  before  the  magnitude  of  the  undertaking. 
Utterly,  indeed,  should  I  despair,  did  not  the  presence  of  many, 
whom  I  see  here,  remind  me,  that  in  other  high  authorities  provided 
by  our  Constitution,  I  shall  find  resources  of  wisdom,  of  virtue,  and 
of  zeal,  on  which  to  rely  under  all  difficulties.  To  you,  then,  gentle 
men,  who  are  charged  with  the  sovereign  functions  of  legislation, 
and  to  those  associated  with  you,  I  look  with  encouragement  for 
that  guidance  and  support  which  may  enable  us  to  steer  with  safety 
the  vessel  in  which  we  are  all  embarked,  amidst  the  conflicting 
elements  of  a  troubled  world. 

********** 
Let  us  then,  with  courage  and  confidence,  pursue  our  federal 
and  republican  principles  ;  our  attachment  to  union  and  represent 
ative  government.  Kindly  separated  by  nature  and  a  wide  ocean 
from  the  exterminating  havoc  of  one  quarter  of  the  globe ;  too 
high-minded  to  endure  the  degradation  of  the  others,  possessing 
a  chosen  country,  with  room  enough  for  our  descendants  to  the 
thousandth  and  thousandth  generation,  entertaining  a  due  sense  of 
our  equal  right  to  the  use  of  our  own  faculties,  to  the  acquisition 
of  our  own  industry,  to  honor  and  confidence  from  our  fellow- 
citizens,  resulting  not  from  birth,  but  from  our  actions  and  their 
sense  of  them,  enlightened  by  a  benign  religion,  professed  indeed 
and  practised  in  various  forms,  yet  all  of  them  inculcating  honesty, 
truth,  temperance,  gratitude,  and  the  love  of  man,  acknowledging 
and  adoring  an  overruling  Providence,  which,  by  all  its  dispensa 
tions,  proves  that  it  delights  in  the  happiness  of  man  here,  and 
his  greater  happiness  hereafter  ;  with  all  these  blessings,  what  more 
is  necessary  to  make  us  a  happy  and  prosperous  people  ?  Still  one 
thing  more,  fellow-citizens,  a  wise  and  frugal  government,  which 
shall  restrain  men  from  injuring  one  another,  shall  leave  them 
otherwise  free  to  regulate  their  own  pursuits  of  industry  and  im 
provement,  and  shall  not  take  from  the  mouth  of  labor  the  bread 
it  has  earned.  This  is  the  sum  of  good  government ;  and  this  is 
necessary  to  close  the  circle  of  our  felicities. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  127 

AN  ANECDOTE  OF  DOCTOR  FRANKLIN 
FROM  JEFFERSON'S  "AUTOBIOGRAPHY" 

When  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  under  the  considera 
tion  of  Congress,  there  were  two  or  three  unlucky  expressions  in  it 
which  gave  offence  to  some  members.  The  words  "  Scotch  and  other 
foreign  auxiliaries  "  excited  the  ire  of  a  gentleman  or  two  of  that 
country.  Severe  strictures  on  the  conduct  of  the  British  King,  in 
negotiating  our  repeated  repeals  of  the  law  which  permitted  the 
importation  of  slaves,  were  disapproved  by  some  Southern  gentle 
men,  whose  reflections  were  not  yet  matured  to  the  full  abhorrence 
of  that  traffic.  Although  the  offensive  expressions  were  immediately 
yielded,  these  gentlemen  continued  their  depredations  on  other  parts 
of  the  instrument.  I  was  sitting  by  Dr.  Franklin,  who  perceived 
that  I  was  not  insensible  to  these  mutilations.  "  I  have  made  it  a 
rule,"  he  said,  "  whenever  in  my  power,  to  avoid  being  the  draughts 
man  of  papers  to  be  reviewed  by  a  public  body.  I  took  my  lesson 
from  an  incident  which  I  will  relate  to  you.  When  I  was  a  journey 
man  printer,  one  of  my  companions,  an  apprentice  hatter,  having 
served  out  his  time,  was  about  to  open  shop  for  himself.  His  first 
concern  was  to  have  a  handsome  sign-board,  with  a  proper  inscrip 
tion.  He  composed  it  in  these  words,  '  John  Thompson,  Hatter, 
makes  and  sells  hats  for  ready  money,'  with  a  figure  of  a  hat  sub 
joined  ;  but  he  thought  he  would  submit  it  to  his  friends  for  their 
amendments.  The  first  he  showed  it  to  thought  the  word  Hatter 
tautologous,  because  followed  by  the  words  '  makes  hats/  which 
showed  he  was  a  hatter.  It  was  struck  out.  The  next  observed 
that  the  word  makes  might  as  well  be  omitted,  because  his  cus 
tomers  would  not  care  who  made  the  hats.  If  good  and  to  their 
minds,  they  would  buy,  by  whomsoever  made.  He  struck  it  out. 
A  third  said  he  thought  the  words  for  ready  money  were  useless, 
as  it  was  not  the  custom  of  the  place  to  sell  on  credit.  Everyone 
who  purchased  expected  to  pay.  They  were  parted  with,  and  the 
inscription  now  stood,  'John  Thompson  sells  hats.'  *  Sells  hats,' 
says  his  next  friend  !  '  Why  nobody  would  expect  you  to  give  them 
away,  what  then  is  the  use  of  that  word  ? '  It  was  stricken  out,  and 


128         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

hats  followed  it,  the  rather  as  there  was  one  painted  on  the  board. 
So  the  inscription  was  reduced  ultimately  to  *  John  Thompson  ' 
with  the  figure  of  a  hat  subjoined." 

A  TRIBUTE  TO  FRANCE 
FROM  THE  "  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  " 

And  here,  I  cannot  leave  this  great  and  good  country  without 
expressing  my  sense  of  its  pre-eminence  of  character  among  the 
nations  of  the  earth.  A  more  benevolent  people  I  have  never 
known,  nor  greater  warmth  and  devotedness  in  their  select  friend 
ships.  Their  kindness  and  accommodation  to  strangers  is  unpar 
alleled,  and  the  hospitality  of  Paris  is  beyond  anything  I  had 
conceived  to  be  practicable  in  a  large  city.  Their  eminence,  too, 
in  science,  the  communicative  dispositions  of  their  scientific  men, 
the  politeness  of  the  general  manners,  the  ease  and  vivacity  of  their 
conversation,  give  a  charm  to  their  society,  to  be  found  no  where 
else.  In  a  comparison  of  this,  with  other  countries,  we  have  the 
proof  of  primacy,  which  was  given  to  Themistocles,  after  the  battle 
of  Salamis.  Every  general  voted  to  himself  the  first  reward  of  valor, 
and  the  second  to  Themistocles.  So,  ask  the  travelled  inhabitant 
of  any  nation,  in  what  country  on  earth  would  you  rather  live  ? 
Certainly,  in  my  own,  where  are  all  my  friends,  my  relations,  and 
the  earliest  and  sweetest  affections  and  recollections  of  my  life. 
Which  would  be  your  second  choice  ?  France. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  129 


ALEXANDER   HAMILTON 

[Born  in  the  island  of  Nevis,  West  Indies,  January  n,  1757;   died  at  New 
York,  July  12,  1804] 

ON   THE   EXPEDIENCY   OF  ADOPTING  THE   FEDERAL   CON 
STITUTION—CONVENTION    OF    NEW   YORK,    JUNE    24,    1788 

(EXTRACTS) 

I  am  persuaded,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  I  in  my  turn  shall  be  in 
dulged,  in  addressing  the  committee.  We  all,  in  equal  sincerity, 
profess  to  be  anxious  for  the  establishment  of  a  republican  govern 
ment,  on  a  safe  and  solid  basis.  It  is  the  object  of  the  wishes  of 
every  honest  man  in  the  United  States,  and  I  presume  that  I  shall 
not  be  disbelieved,  when  I  declare,  that  it  is  an  object,  of  all  others, 
the  nearest  and  most  dear  to  my  own  heart.  The  means  of  accom 
plishing  this  great  purpose  become  the  most  important  study  which 
can  interest  mankind.  It  is  our  duty  to  examine  all  those  means 
with  peculiar  attention,  and  to  choose  the  best  and  most  effectual. 
It  is  our  duty  to  draw  from  nature,  from  reason,  from  examples, 
the  best  principles  of  policy,  and  to  pursue  and  apply  them  in  the 
formation  of  our  government.  We  should  contemplate  and  com 
pare  the  systems,  which,  in  this  examination,  come  under  our  view  ; 
distinguish,  with  a  careful  eye,  the  defects  and  excellencies  of  each, 
and  discarding  the  former,  incorporate  the  latter,  as  far  as  circum 
stances  will  admit,  into  our  Constitution.  If  we  pursue  a  different 
course  and  neglect  this  duty,  we  shall  probably  disappoint  the 
expectations  of  our  country  and  of  the  world. 

********** 

Gentlemen,  in  their  reasoning,  have  placed  the  interests  of  the 
several  States  and  those  of  the  United  States  in  contrast ;  this  is 
not  a  fair  view  of  the  subject ;  they  must  necessarily  be  involved 
in  each  other.  What  we  apprehend  is,  that  some  sinister  prejudice, 
or  some  prevailing  passion,  may  assume  the  form  of  genuine  in 
terest.  The  influence  of  these  is  as  powerful  as  the  most  perma 
nent  conviction  of  the  public  good  ;  and  against  this  influence  we 
ought  to  provide.  The  logical  interests  of  a  State  ought  in  every 


130         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

case  to  give  way  to  the  interests  of  the  Union  ;  for  when  a  sacri 
fice  of  one  or  the  other  is  necessary,  the  former  becomes  only  an 
apparent,  partial  interest,  and  should  yield,  on  the  principle  that 
the  small  good  ought  never  to  oppose  the  great  one.  When  you 
assemble  from  your  several  counties  in  the  Legislature,  were  every 
member  to  be  guided  only  by  the  apparent  interests  of  his  county, 
government  would  be  impracticable.  There  must  be  a  perpetual 
accommodation  and  sacrifice  of  local  advantages  to  general  expedi 
ency  ;  but  the  spirit  of  a  mere  popular  assembly  would  rarely  be 
actuated  by  this  important  principle.  It  is  therefore  absolutely 
necessary  that  the  Senate  should  be  so  formed,  as  to  be  unbiassed 
by  false  conceptions  of  the  real  interests,  or  undue  attachment  to 
the  apparent  good  of  their  several  States. 


THOMAS  PAINE 
[Born  at  Thetford,  England,  January  29,  1737;  died  at  New  York,  June  8, 1 809] 

ON  THE  SEPARATION   OF  BRITAIN  AND  AMERICA 
FROM  "COMMON  SENSE,"  1776 

Everything  that  is  right  or  natural  pleads  for  separation.  The 
blood  of  the  slain,  the  weeping  voice  of  nature  cries,  "'tis  time 
to  part."  Even  the  distance  at  which  the  Almighty  hath  placed 
England  and  America  is  a  strong  and  natural  proof  that  the  author 
ity  of  the  one  over  the  other  was  never  the  design  of  heaven.  The 
time,  likewise,  at  which  the  continent  was  discovered,  adds  weight 
to  the  argument,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  peopled  increases 
the  force  of  it.  The  Reformation  was  preceded  by  the  discovery 
of  America,  as  if  the  Almighty  graciously  meant  to  open  a  sanc 
tuary  to  the  persecuted  in  future  years,  when  home  should  afford 
neither  friendship  nor  safety. 

The  authority  of  Great  Britain  over  this  continent  is  a  form 
of  government  which  sooner  or  later  must  have  an  end  :  and  a 
serious  mind  can  draw  no  true  pleasure  by  looking  forward,  under 
the  painful  and  positive  conviction,  that  what  he  calls  "  the  present 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  131 

constitution  "  is  merely  temporary.  As  parents,  we  can  have  no 
joy,  knowing  that  this  government  is  not  sufficiently  lasting  to 
insure  anything  that  we  may  bequeath  to  posterity  ;  and  by  a  plain 
method  of  argument,  as  we  are  running  the  next  generation  into 
debt,  we  ought  to  do  the  work  of  it,  otherwise  we  use  them  meanly 
and  pitifully.  In  order  to  discover  the  line  of  our  duty  rightly,  we 
should  take  our  children  in  our  hand,  and  fix  our  station  a  few 
years  farther  into  life  ;  that  eminence  will  present  a  prospect  which 
a  few  present  fears  and  prejudices  conceal  from  our  sight. 

Though  I  would  carefully  avoid  giving  unnecessary  offence,  yet 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  all  those  who  espouse  the  doctrine 
of  reconciliation  may  be  included  within  the  following  descriptions : 
Interested  men,  who  are  not  to  be  trusted  ;  weak  men,  who  cannot 
see ;  and  a  certain  set  of  moderate  men,  who  think  better  of  the 
European  world  than  it  deserves :  and  this  last  class,  by  an  ill- 
judged  deliberation,  will  be  the  cause  of  more  calamities  to  this 
continent  than  all  the  other  three. 

It  is  the  good  fortune  of  many  to  live  distant  from  the  scene 
of  sorrow ;  the  evil  is  not  sufficiently  brought  to  their  doors  to 
make  them  feel  the  precariousness  with  which  all  American  prop 
erty  is  possessed.  But  let  our  imaginations  transport  us  a  few 
moments  to  Boston  ;  that  seat  of  wretchedness  will  teach  us  wis 
dom,  and  instruct  us  forever  to  renounce  a  power  in  whom  we  can 
have  no  trust.  The  inhabitants  of  that  unfortunate  city,  who  but 
a  few  months  ago  were  in  ease  and  affluence,  have  now  no  other 
alternative  than  to  stay  and  starve,  or  turn  out  to  beg.  Endangered 
by  the  fire  of  their  friends  if  they  continue  within  the  city,  and 
plundered  by  the  soldiery  if  they  leave  it.  In  their  present  situation 
they  are  prisoners  without  the  hope  of  redemption,  and  in  a  general 
attack  for  their  relief  they  would  be  exposed  to  the  fury  of  both 
armies. 

Men  of  passive  tempers  look  somewhat  lightly  over  the  offences 
of  Britain,  and,  still  hoping  for  the  best,  are  apt  to  call  out, 
"  Come,  come,  we  shall  be  friends  again  for  all  this."  But  ex 
amine  the  passions  and  feelings  of  mankind,  bring  the  doctrine  of 
reconciliation  to  the  touchstone  of  nature,  and  then  tell  me  whether 
you  can  hereafter  love,  honor,  and  faithfully  serve  the  power 


132         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

that  hath  carried  fire  and  sword  into  your  land  ?  If  you  cannot 
do  all  these,  then  you  are  only  deceiving  yourselves,  and  by  your 
delay  bringing  ruin  upon  your  posterity.  Your  future  connection 
with  Britain,  whom  you  can  neither  love  nor  honor,  will  be  forced 
and  unnatural,  and  being  formed  only  on  the  plan  of  present  con 
venience,  will  in  a  little  time  fall  into  a  relapse  more  wretched 
than  the  first.  But  if  you  say  that  you  can  still  pass  the  violations 
over,  then  I  ask,  hath  your  house  been  burnt  ?  Hath  your  prop 
erty  been  destroyed  before  your  face  ?  Are  your  wife  and  children 
destitute  of  a  bed  to  lie  on,  or  bread  to  live  on  ?  Have  you  lost 
a  parent  or  a  child  by  their  hands,  and  yourself  the  ruined  and 
wretched  survivor  ?  If  you  have  not,  then  are  you  not  a  judge  of 
those  who  have.  But  if  you  have,  and  can  still  shake  hands  with 
the  murderers,  then  are  you  unworthy  the  name  of  husband,  father, 
friend,  or  lover,  and  whatever  may  be  your  rank  or  title  in  life, 
you  have  the  heart  of  a  coward  and  the  spirit  of  a  sycophant. 

THE  FOPPERY  OF  TITLES 
FROM  THE  "RIGHTS  OF  MAN,"  PART  I,  1791 

Titles  are  but  nicknames,  and  every  nickname  is  a  title.  The 
thing  is  perfectly  harmless  in  itself,  but  it  marks  a  sort  of  foppery 
in  the  human  character  which  degrades  it.  It  renders  man  diminu 
tive  in  things  which  are  great,  and  the  counterfeit  of  women  in 
things  which  are  little.  It  talks  about  its  fine  riband  like  a  girl, 
and  shows  its  garter  like  a  child.  A  certain  writer  of  some 
antiquity,  says,  "  When  I  was  a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child  ;  but 
when  I  became  a  man,  I  put  away  childish  things." 

It  is,  properly,  from  the  elevated  mind  of  France  that  the  folly 
of  titles  has  been  abolished.  It  has  outgrown  the  baby-clothes  of 
count  and  duke,  and  breeched  itself  in  manhood.  France  has  not 
levelled,  it  has  exalted.  It  has  put  down  the  dwarf  to  put  up  the 
man.  The  insignificance  of  a  senseless  word  like  duke,  count,  or 
earl,  has  ceased  to  please.  Even  those  who  possess  them  have 
disowned  the  gibberish,  and,  as  they  outgrew  the  rickets,  have 
despised  the  rattle.  The  genuine  mind  of  man,  thirsting  for  its 
native  home,  society,  condemns  the  gewgaws  that  separate  him 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  133 

from  it.  Titles  are  like  circles  drawn  by  the  magician's  wand,  to 
contract  the  sphere  of  man's  felicity.  He  lives  immured  within 
the  Bastile  of  a  word,  and  surveys  at  a  distance  the  envied  life 
of  man. 

Is  it,  then,  any  wonder  that  titles  should  fall  in  France  ?  Is  it 
not  a  greater  wonder  that  they  should  be  kept  up  anywhere  ? 
What  are  they?  What  is  their  worth,  nay,  "what  is  their 
amount  ?  "  When  we  think  or  speak  of  a  judge,  or  a  general,  we 
associate  with  it  the  ideas  of  office  and  character ;  we  think  of 
gravity  in  the  one,  and  bravery  in  the  other ;  but  when  we  use  a 
word  merely  as  a  title,  no  ideas  associate  with  it.  Through  all  the 
vocabulary  of  Adam,  there  is  not  such  an  animal  as  a  duke  or 
a  count ;  neither  can  we  connect  any  certain  idea  to  the  words. 
Whether  they  mean  strength  or  weakness,  wisdom  or  folly,  a 
child  or  a  man,  or  a  rider  or  a  horse,  is  all  equivocal.  What 
respect,  then,  can  be  paid  to  that  which  describes  nothing,  and 
which  means  nothing  ?  Imagination  has  given  figure  and  charac 
ter  to  centaurs,  satyrs,  and  down  to  all  the  fairy  tribes  ;  but  titles 
baffle  even  the  powers  of  fancy,  and  are  a  chimerical  nondescript. 

But  this  is  not  all.  If  a  whole  country  is  disposed  to  hold  them 
in  contempt,  all  their  value  is  gone,  and  none  will  own  them.  It 
is  common  opinion  only  that  makes  them  anything  or  nothing,  or 
worse  than  nothing.  There  is  no  occasion  to  take  titles  away,  for 
they  take  themselves  away  when  society  concurs  to  ridicule  them. 
This  species  of  imaginary  consequence  has  visibly  declined  in 
every  part  of  Europe,  and  it  hastens  to  its  exit  as  the  world  of 
reason  continues  to  rise.  There  was  a  time  when  the  lowest  class 
of  what  are  called  nobility  was  more  thought  of  than  the  highest 
is  now,  and  when  a  man  in  armor  riding  through  Christendom  in 
search  of  adventures  was  more  stared  at  than  a  modern  duke. 
The  world  has  seen  this  folly  fall,  and  it  has  fallen  by  being 
laughed  at,  and  the  farce  of  titles  will  follow  its  fate.  The  patriots 
of  France  have  discovered  in  good  time  that  rank  and  dignity  in 
society  must  take  a  new  ground.  The  old  one  has  fallen  through. 
It  must  now  take  the  substantial  ground  of  character,  instead  of 
the  chimerical  ground  of  titles  :  and  they  have  brought  their  titles 
to  the  altar,  and  made  of  them  a  burnt-offering  to  reason. 


134        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

LIBERTY  TREE 
PUBLISHED  IN  THE  Pennsylvania  Magazine,  1775 

In  a  chariot  of  light  from  the  regions  of  day, 

The  Goddess  of  Liberty  came  ; 
Ten  thousand  celestials  directed  the  way, 

And  hither  conducted  the  dame. 
A  fair  budding  branch  from  the  gardens  above, 

Where  millions  with  millions  agree, 
She  brought  in  her  hand  as  a  pledge  of  her  love, 

And  the  plant  she  named  Liberty  Tree. 

The  celestial  exotic  struck  deep  in  the  ground, 

Like  a  native  it  flourished  and  bore ; 
The  fame  of  its  fruit  drew  the  nations  around, 

To  seek  out  this  peaceable  shore. 
Unmindful  of  names  or  distinctions  they  came, 

For  freemen  like  brothers  agree  ; 
With  one  spirit  endued,  they  one  friendship  pursued, 

And  their  temple  was  Liberty  Tree. 

Beneath  this  fair  tree,  like  the  patriarchs  of  old, 

Their  bread  in  contentment  they  ate, 
Unvexed  with  the  troubles  of  silver  and  gold, 

The  cares  of  the  grand  and  the  great. 
With  timber  and  tar  they  old  England  supplied, 

And  supported  her  power  on  the  sea  ; 
Her  battles  they  fought,  without  getting  a  groat, 

For  the  honor  of  Liberty  Tree. 

But  hear,  O  ye  swains,  't  is  a  tale  most  profane, 

How  all  the  tyrannical  powers, 
Kings,  Commons  and  Lords,  are  uniting  amain, 

To  cut  down  this  guardian  of  ours ; 
From  the  east  to  the  west  blow  the  trumpet  to  arms, 

Through  the  land  let  the  sound  of  it  flee, 
Let  the  far  and  the  near,  all  unite  with  a  cheer, 

In  defence  of  our  Liberty  Tree. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  135 


PHILIP  FRENEAU 

[Born  at  New  York,  1752 ;  died  near  Freehold,  New  Jersey, 
December  18,  1832] 

THE  PICTURES  OF  COLUMBUS 
PICTURE  IV.    COLUMBUS  ADDRESSES   KING  FERDINAND 

Prince  and  pride  of  Spain  !  while  meaner  crowns, 
Pleas 'd  with  the  shadow  of  monarchial  sway, 
Exact  obedience  from  some  paltry  tract 
Scarce  worth  the  pain  and  toil  of  governing, 
Be  thine  the  generous  care  to  send  thy  fame 
Beyond  the  knowledge,  or  the  guess  of  man. 

This  gulphy  deep  (that  bounds  our  western  reign 
So  long  by  civil  feuds  and  wars  disgrac'd) 
Must  be  the  passage  to  some  other  shore 
Where  nations  dwell,  children  of  early  time, 
Basking  in  the  warm  sunshine  of  the  south, 
Who  some  false  deity,  no  doubt,  adore, 
Owning  no  virtue  in  the  potent  cross  : 
What  honor,  sire,  to  plant  your  standards  there, 
And  souls  recover  to  our  holy  faith 
That  now  in  paths  of  dark  perdition  stray, 
Warp'd  to  his  worship  by  the  evil  one  ! 

Think  not  that  Europe  and  the  Asian  waste, 
Of  Africa,  where  barren  sands  abound, 
Are  the  sole  gems  in  Neptune's  bosom  laid  : 
Think  not  the  world  a  vast  extended  plain  : 
See  yond  bright  orbs,  that  through  the  ether  move. 
All  globular ;  this  earth  a  globe  like  them 
Walks  her  own  rounds,  attended  by  the  moon, 
Bright  comrade,  but  with  borrowed  lustre  bright. 
If  all  the  surface  of  this  mighty  round 
Be  one  wide  ocean  of  unfathom'd  depth 
Bounding  the  little  space  already  known, 
Nature  must  have  forgot  her  wonted  wit 


136        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  made  a  monstrous  havock  of  proportion. 
If  her  proud  depths  were  not  restrain 'd  by  lands, 
And  broke  by  continents  of  vast  extent 
Existing  somewhere  under  western  skies, 
Far  other  waves  would  roll  before  the  storms 
Than  ever  yet  have  burst  on  Europe's  shores, 
Driving  before  them  deluge  and  confusion. 

But  Nature  will  preserve  what  she  has  plann'd  : 
And  the  whole  suffrage  of  antiquity, 
Platonic  dreams,  and  reason's  plainer  page 
All  point  at  something  that  we  ought  to  see 
Buried  behind  the  waters  of  the  west, 
Clouded  with  shadows  of  uncertainty. 
The  time  is  come  for  some  sublime  event 
Of  mighty  fame  :  —  mankind  are  children  yet, 
And  hardly  dream  what  treasures  they  possess 
In  the  dark  bosom  of  the  fertile  main, 
Unfathom'd,  unattempted,  unexplor'd. 
These,  mighty  prince,  I  offer  to  reveal, 
And  by  the  magnet's  aid,  if  you  supply 
Ships  and  some  gallant  hearts,  will  hope  to  bring 
From  distant  climes,  news  worthy  of  a  king. 

PICTURE  XII.    COLUMBUS  IN  CHAINS 

Are  these  the  honors  they  reserve  for  me, 

Chains  for  the  man  that  gave  new  worlds  to  Spain  ! 

Rest  here,  my  swelling  heart !  —  O  kings,  O  queens, 

Patrons  of  monsters,  and  their  progeny, 

Authors  of  wrong,  and  slaves  to  fortune  merely  ! 

Why  was  I  seated  by  my  prince's  side, 

Honour'd,  caress'd  like  some  first  peer  of  Spain  ? 

Was  it  that  I  might  fall  most  suddenly 

From  honour's  summit  to  the  sink  of  scandal  ? 

'Tis  done,  'tis  done  !  —  what  madness  is  ambition  ! 

What  is  there  in  that  little  breath  of  men, 

Which  they  call  Fame,  that  should  induce  the  brave 

To  forfeit  ease  and  that  domestic  bliss 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  137 

Which  is  the  lot  of  happy  ignorance, 
Less  glorious  aims,  and  dull  humility  ?  — 
Whoe'er  thou  art  that  shall  aspire  to  honour, 
And  on  the  strength  and  vigor  of  the  mind 
Vainly  depending,  court  a  monarch's  favour, 
Pointing  the  way  to  vast  extended  empire ; 
First  count  your  pay  to  be  ingratitude, 
Then  chains  and  prisons,  and  disgrace  like  mine ! 
Each  wretched  pilot  now  shall  spread  his  sails, 
And  treading  in  my  footsteps,  hail  new  worlds, 
Which,  but  for  me,  had  still  been  empty  visions. 

DEATH'S  EPITAPH 
FROM  "  THE  HOUSE  OF  NIGHT  " 

Death  in  this  tomb  his  weary  bones  hath  laid, 
Sick  of  dominion  o'er  the  human  kind ; 
Behold  what  devastations  he  hath  made, 
Survey  the  millions  by  his  arm  confined. 

11  Six  thousand  years  has  sovereign  sway  been  mine, 
None  but  myself  can  real  glory  claim  ; 
Great  Regent  of  the  world  I  reigned  alone, 
And  princes  trembled  when  my  mandate  came. 

"  Vast  and  unmatched  throughout  the  world,  my  fame 
Takes  place  of  gods,  and  asks  no  mortal  date  — 
No :  by  myself,  and  by  the  heavens,  I  swear 
Not  Alexander's  name  is  half  so  great. 

"  Nor  swords  nor  darts  my  prowess  could  withstand, 
All  quit  their  arms,  and  bowed  to  my  decree,  — 
Even  mighty  Julius  died  beneath  thy  hand, 
For  slaves  and  Caesars  were  the  same  to  me !  " 

Traveller,  wouldst  thou  his  noblest  trophies  seek, 
Search  in  no  narrow  spot  obscure  for  those ; 
The  sea  profound,  the  surface  of  all  land, 
Is  moulded  with  the  myriads  of  his  foes. 


138        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 
THE   INDIAN   BURYING-GROUND 

In  spite  of  all  the  learned  have  said, 

I  still  by  old  opinion  keep ; 
The  posture  that  we  give  the  dead 

Points  out  the  soul's  eternal  sleep. 

Not  so  the  ancients  of  these  lands  ;  — 
The  Indian,  when  from  life  released, 

Again  is  seated  with  his  friends, 
And  shares  again  the  joyous  feast. 

His  imaged  birds,  and  painted  bowl, 
And  venison,  for  a  journey  dressed, 

Bespeak  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
Activity,  that  wants  no  rest. 

His  bow  for  action  ready  bent, 
And  arrows  with  a  head  of  stone, 

Can  only  mean  that  life  is  spent, 
And  not  the  old  ideas  gone. 

Thou,  stranger,  that  shall  come  this  way, 
No  fraud  upon  the  dead  commit,  — 

Observe  the  swelling  turf,  and  say, 
They  do  not  lie,  but  here  they  sit. 

Here  still  a  lofty  rock  remains, 

On  which  the  curious  eye  may  trace 

(Now  wasted  half  by  wearing  rains) 
The  fancies  of  a  ruder  race. 

Here  still  an  aged  elm  aspires, 

Beneath  whose  far  projecting  shade 

(And  which  the  shepherd  still  admires) 
The  children  of  the  forest  played. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  139 

There  oft  a  restless  Indian  queen 

(Pale  Shebah  with  her  braided  hair), 
And  many  a  barbarous  form  is  seen 

To  chide  the  man  that  lingers  there. 

By  midnight  moons,  o'er  moistening  dews, 

In  habit  for  the  chase  arrayed, 
The  hunter  still  the  deer  pursues, 

The  hunter  and  the  deer  —  a  shade  ! 

And  long  shall  timorous  Fancy  see 

The  painted  chief,  and  pointed  spear, 
And  Reason's  self  shall  bow  the  knee 

To  shadows  and  delusions  here. 


THE  WILD   HONEYSUCKLE 

Fair  flower,  that  dost  so  comely  grow, 

Hid  in  this  silent,  dull  retreat, 
Untouched  thy  honied  blossoms  blow, 
Unseen  thy  little  branches  greet : 

No  roving  foot  shall  crush  thee  here, 
No  busy  hand  provoke  a  tear. 

By  Nature's  self  in  white  arrayed, 

She  bade  thee  shun  the  vulgar  eye, 
And  planted  here  the  guardian  shade, 
And  sent  soft  waters  murmuring  by ; 
Thus  quietly  thy  summer  goes, 
Thy  days  declining  to  repose. 

Smit  with  those  charms,  that  must  decay, 

I  grieve  to  see  your  future  doom ; 
They  died  —  nor  were  those  flowers  more  gay, 
The  flowers  that  did  in  Eden  bloom  ; 
Unpitying  frosts  and  Autumn's  power 
Shall  leave  no  vestige  of  this  flower. 


140        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

From  morning  suns  and  evening  dews 

At  first  thy  little  being  came  ; 
If  nothing  once,  you  nothing  lose, 
For  when  you  die  you  are  the  same ; 
The  space  between  is  but  an  hour, 
The  frail  duration  of  a  flower. 

TO  A  HONEY  BEE 

Thou,  born  to  sip  the  lake  or  spring, 
Or  quaff  the  waters  of  the  stream, 
Why  hither  come,  on  vagrant  wing  ? 
Does  Bacchus  tempting  seem,  — 
Did  he  for  joy  this  glass  prepare  ? 
Will  I  admit  you  to  a  share  ? 

Did  storms  harass  or  foes  perplex, 

Did  wasps  or  king-birds  bring  dismay,  — 
Did  wars  distress,  or  labors  vex, 
Or  did  you  miss  your  way  ? 

A  better  seat  you  could  not  take 
Than  on  the  margin  of  this  lake. 

Welcome  !  —  I  hail  you  to  my  glass  : 

All  welcome  here  you  find  ; 
Here  let  the  cloud  of  trouble  pass, 
Here  be  all  care  resigned. 

This  fluid  never  fails  to  please, 
And  drown  the  grief  of  men  or  bees. 

What  forced  you  here  we  cannot  know, 

And  you  will  scarcely  tell, 
But  cheery  we  would  have  you  go 
And  bid  a  glad  farewell : 

On  lighter  wings  we  bid  you  fly,  — 
Your  dart  will  now  all  foes  defy. 

Yet  take  not,  oh  !  too  deep  a  drink, 
And  in  this  ocean  die ; 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  141 

Here  bigger  bees  than  you  might  sink, 
Even  bees  full  six  feet  high. 

Like  Pharaoh,  then,  you  would  be  said 
To  perish  in  a  sea  of  red. 

Do  as  you  please,  your  will  is  mine ; 

Enjoy  it  without  fear, 
And  your  grave  will  be  this  glass  of  wine, 
Your  epitaph  —  a  tear ; 

Go,  take  your  seat  in  Charon's  boat ; 
We  '11  tell  the  hive,  you  died  afloat. 

JOHN  TRUMBULL 

[Born  at  Westbury,  Connecticut,  April  24,  1750;  died  at  Detroit,  Michigan, 

May  10,  1831] 

CONVERTING  A  TORY 
FROM  "  McFiNGAL.   A  MODERN  EPIC  POEM,"  1782 

Meanwhile  beside  the  pole,  the  guard 
A  Bench  of  Justice  had  prepared, 
Where  sitting  round  in  awful  sort 
The  grand  Committee  hold  their  Court ; 
While  all  the  crew,  in  silent  awe, 
Wait  from  their  lips  the  lore  of  law. 
Few  moments  with  deliberation 
They  hold  the  solemn  consultation  ; 
When  soon  in  judgment  all  agree, 
And  Clerk  proclaims  the  dread  decree ; 

"  That  'Squire  McFingal  having  grown 
The  vilest  Tory  in  the  town, 
And  now  in  full  examination 
Convicted  by  his  own  confession, 
Finding  no  tokens  of  repentance, 
This  Court  proceeds  to  render  sentence : 
That  first  the  Mob  a  slip-knot  single 
Tie  round  the  neck  of  said  McFingal, 


142        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  in  due  form  do  tar  him  next, 
And  feather,  as  the  law  directs ; 
Then  through  the  town  attendant  ride  him 
In  cart  with  Constable  beside  him, 
And  having  held  him  up  to  shame, 
Bring  to  the  pole,  from  whence  he  came." 

Forthwith  the  crowd  proceed  to  deck 
With  halter'd  noose  McFingal's  neck, 
While  he  in  peril  of  his  soul 
Stood  tied  half-hanging  to  the  pole  ; 
Then  lifting  high  the  ponderous  jar, 
Pour'd  o'er  his  head  the  smoaking  tan 
With  less  profusion  once  was  spread 
Oil  on  the  Jewish  monarch's  head, 
That  down  his  beard  and  vestments  ran, 
And  cover'd  all  his  outward  man. 
As  when  (So  Claudian  sings)  the  Gods 
And  earth-born  Giants  fell  at  odds, 
The  stout  Enceladus  in  malice 
Tore  mountains  up  to  throw  at  Pallas ; 
And  while  he  held  them  o'er  his  head, 
The  river,  from  their  fountains  fed, 
Pour'd  down  his  back  its  copious  tide, 

And  wore  its  channels  in  his  hide  : 
So  from  the  high-raised  urn  the  torrents 
Spread  down  his  side  their  various  currents ; 
His  flowing  wig,  as  next  the  brim, 
First  met  and  drank  the  sable  stream  ; 
Adowh  his  visage  stern  and  grave 
Roll'd  and  adhered  the  viscid  wave ; 
With  arms  depending  as  he  stood, 
Each  cup  capacious  holds  the  flood ; 
From  nose  and  chin's  remotest  end 
The  tarry  icicles  descend  ; 
Till  all  o'erspread,  with  colors  gay, 
He  glitter'd  to  the  western  ray, 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  143 

Like  sleet-bound  trees  in  wintry  skies, 
Or  Lapland  idol  carved  in  ice. 
And  now  the  feather-bag  display'd 
Is  waved  in  triumph  o'er  his  head, 
And  clouds  him  o'er  with  feathers  missive, 
And  down,  upon  the  tar,  adhesive  : 
Not  Maia's  son,  with  wings  for  ears, 
Such  plumage  round  his  visage  wears, 
Nor  Milton's  six-wing'd  angel  gathers 
Such  superfluity  of  feathers. 
Now  all  complete  appears  our  'Squire, 
Like  Gorgon  or  Chimaera  dire ; 
Nor  more  could  boast  on  Plato's  plan 
To  rank  among  the  grace  of  man, 
Or  prove  his  claim  to  human  nature, 
As  a  two-legg'd  unfeather'd  creature. 

Then  on  the  fatal  cart,  in  state 
They  raised  our  grand  Duumvirate. 
And  as  at  Rome  a  like  committee, 
Who  found  an  owl  within  their  city, 
With  solemn  rites  and  grave  processions 
At  every  shrine  perform 'd  lustrations  ; 
And  lest  infection  might  take  place 
From  such  grim  fowl  with  feather'd  face, 
All  Rome  attends  him  through  the  street 
In  triumph  to  his  country  seat : 
With  like  devotion  all  the  choir 
Paraded  round  our  awful  'Squire ; 
In  front  the  martial  music  comes 
Of  horns  and  fiddles,  fifes  and  drums, 
With  jingling  sound  of  carriage  bells, 
And  treble  creak  of  rusted  wheels. 
Behind,  the  crowd,  in  lengthen'd  row 
With  proud  procession,  closed  the  show. 
And  at  fit  periods  every  throat 
Combined  in  universal  shout, 


144         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  hail'd  great  Liberty  in  chorus, 
Or  brawl'd  'v  confusion  to  the  Tories.'1 
Not  louder  storm  the  welkin  braves 
From  clamors  of  conflicting  waves ; 
Less  dire  in  Libyan  wilds  the  noise 
When  rav'ning  lions  lift  their  voice ; 
Or  triumphs  at  town-meetings  made, 
On  passing  votes  to  regulate  trade. 

Thus  having  borne  them  round  the  town, 
Last  at  the  pole  they  set  them  down  ; 
And  to  the  tavern  take  their  way 
To  end  in  mirth  the  festal  day. 

And  now  the  Mob,  dispersed  and  gone, 
Left  'Squire  and  Constable  alone. 
The  Constable  with  rueful  face 
Lean'd  sad  and  solemn  o'er  a  brace ; 
And  fast  beside  him,  cheek  by  jowl, 
Stuck  'Squire  McFingal  'gainst  the  pole, 
Glued  by  the  tar  t'  his  rear  applied, 
Like  barnacle  on  vessel's  side. 
But  though  his  body  lack'd  physician, 
His  spirit  was  in  worse  condition. 
He  found  his  fears  of  whips  and  ropes 
By  many  a  drachm  outweigh 'd  his  hopes. 
As  men  in  jail  without  mainprize 
View  everything  with  other  eyes, 
And  all  goes  wrong  in  Church  and  State, 
Seen  through  perspective  of  the  grate  : 
So  now  McFingal' s  second-sight 
Beheld  all  things  in  gloomier  light ; 
His  visual  nerve,  well  purged  with  tar, 
Saw  all  the  coming  scenes  of  war. 
As  his  prophetic  soul  grew  stronger, 
He  found  he  could  hold  in  no  longer. 
First  from  the  pole,  as  fierce  he  shook, 
His  wig  from  pitchy  durance  broke, 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  145 

His  mouth  unglued,  his  feathers  flutter'd, 
His  tarr'd  skirts  crack'd,  and  thus  he  utter'd : 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Constable,  in  vain 
We  strive  'gainst  wind  and  tide  and  rain ! 
Behold  my  doom  !    This  feathery  omen 
Portends  what  dismal  times  are  coming. 
Now  future  scenes,  before  my  eyes, 
And  second-sighted  forms  arise. 
I  hear  a  voice,  that  calls  away, 
And  cries  '  The  Whigs  will  win  the  day.' 
My  beck'ning  Genius  gives  command, 
And  bids  me  fly  the  fatal  land, 
Where  changing  name  and  constitution, 
Rebellion  turns  to  Revolution, 
While  Loyalty,  oppress 'd  in  tears, 
Stands  trembling  for  its  neck  and  ears. 

"  Go  summon  all  our  brethren,  greeting, 
To  muster  at  our  usual  meeting ; 
There  my  prophetic  voice  shall  warn  'em 
Of  all  things  future  that  concern  'em, 
And  scenes  disclose  on  which,  my  friend, 
Their  conduct  and  their  lives  depend. 
There  I  —  but  first  'tis  more  of  use, 
From  this  vile  pole  to  set  me  loose ; 
Then  go  with  cautious  steps  and  steady, 
While  I  steer  home  and  make  all  ready." 


146        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


TIMOTHY  DWIGHT 

[Born  at  Northampton,  Massachusetts,  May  14,  1752;  died  at  New  Haven, 
Connecticut,  January  n,  1817] 

COLUMBIA 

Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies ! 
Thy  genius  commands  thee  ;  with  rapture  behold, 
While  ages  on  ages  thy  splendors  unfold. 

Thy  reign  is  the  last,  and  the  noblest  of  time, 
Most  fruitful  thy  soil,  most  inviting  thy  clime ; 
Let  the  crimes  of  the  east  ne'er  encrimson  thy  name, 
Be  freedom,  and  science,  and  virtue  thy  fame. 

To  conquest  and  slaughter  let  Europe  aspire ; 
Whelm  nations  in  blood,  and  wrap  cities  in  fire ; 
Thy  heroes  the  rights  of  mankind  shall  defend, 
And  triumph  pursue  them,  and  glory  attend. 
A  world  is  thy  realm  :  for  a  world  be  thy  laws, 
Enlarged  as  thine  empire,  and  just  as  thy  cause ; 
On  Freedom's  broad  basis,  that  empire  shall  rise, 
Extend  with  the  main,  and  dissolve  with  the  skies. 

Fair  Science  her  gates  to  thy  sons  shall  unbar, 
And  the  east  see  thy  morn  hide  the  beams  of  her  star. 
New  bards,  and  new  sages,  unrivalled  shall  soar 
To  fame  unextinguished,  when  time  is  no  more ; 
To  thee,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  designed, 
Shall  fly  from  all  nations  the  best  of  mankind ; 
Here,  grateful  to  heaven,  with  transport  shall  bring 
Their  incense,  more  fragrant  than  odors  of  spring. 

Nor  less  shall  thy  fair  ones  to  glory  ascend, 
And  genius  and  beauty  in  harmony  blend ; 
The  graces  of  form  shall  awake  pure  desire, 
And  the  charms  of  the  soul  ever  cherish  the  fire ; 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  147 

Their  sweetness  unmingled,  their  manners  refined, 
And  virtue's  bright  image,  instamped  on  the  mind, 
With  peace  and  soft  rapture  shall  teach  life  to  glow, 
And  light  up  a  smile  in  the  aspect  of  woe. 

Thy  fleets  to  all  regions  thy  power  shall  display, 
The  nations  admire,  and  the  ocean  obey ; 
Each  shore  to  thy  glory  its  tribute  unfold, 
And  the  east  and  the  south  yield  their  spices  and  gold. 
As  the  day-spring  unbounded,  thy  splendor  shall  flow, 
And  earth's  little  kingdoms  before  thee  shall  bow : 
While  the  ensigns  of  union,  in  triumph  unfurled, 
Hush  the  tumult  of  war,  and  give  peace  to  the  world. 

Thus,  as  down  a  lone  valley,  with  cedars  o'erspread, 
From  war's  dread  confusion  I  pensively  strayed  — 
The  gloom  from  the  face  of  fair  heaven  retired ; 
The  winds  ceased  to  murmur  ;  the  thunders  expired  ; 
Perfumes,  as  of  Eden,  flowed  sweetly  along, 
And  a  voice,  as  of  angels,  enchantingly  sung : 
"  Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies." 

JOEL  BARLOW 

[Born  at  Reading,  Connecticut,  1 754 ;  died  near  Cracow,  Poland, 
December  24,  1812] 

'iHE   HASTY   PUDDING 
CANTO  I 

Ye  Alps  audacious,  through  the  heavens  that  rise, 
To  cramp  the  day  and  hide  me  from  the  skies ; 
Ye  Gallic  flags,  that  o'er  their  heights  unfurled, 
Bear  death  to  kings,  and  freedom  to  the  world, 
I  sing  not  you.    A  softer  theme  I  choose, 
A  virgin  theme,  unconscious  of  the  Muse, 
But  fruitful,  rich,  well  suited  to  inspire 
The  purest  frenzy  of  poetic  fire. 


148        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Despise  it  not,  ye  bards  to  terror  steel'd, 
Who  hurl  your  thunders  round  the  epic  field, 
Nor  ye  who  strain  your  midnight  throats  to  sing 
Joys  that  the  vineyard  and  the  still-house  bring ; 
Or  on  some  distant  fair  your  notes  employ, 
And  speak  of  raptures  that  you  ne'er  enjoy. 
I  sing  the  sweets  I  know,  the  charms  I  feel, 
My  morning  incense,  and  my  evening  meal, 
The  sweets  of  Hasty  Pudding.    Come,  dear  bowl, 
Glide  o'er  my  palate,  and  inspire  my  soul. 
The  milk  beside  thee,  smoking  from  the  kine, 
Its  substance  mingle,  married  in  with  thine, 
Shall  cool  and  temper  thy  superior  heat, 
And  save  the  pains  oi  blowing  while  I  eat. 

Oh !  could  the  smooth,  the  emblematic  song 
Flow  like  thy  genial  juices  o'er  my  tongue, 
Could  those  mild  morsels  in  my  numbers  chime, 
And,  as  they  roll  in  substance,  roll  in  rhyme, 
No  more  thy  awkward  unpoetic  name 
Should  shun  the  Muse,  or  prejudice  thy  fame ; 
But  rising  grateful  to  the  accustom'd  ear, 
All  bards  should  catch  it,  and  all  realms  revere ! 

Assist  me  first  with  pious  toil  to  trace 
Through  wrecks  of  time,  thy  lineage  and  thy  race ; 
Declare  what  lovely  squaw,  in  days  of  yore, 
(Ere  great  Columbus  sought  thy  native  shore) 
First  gave  thee  to  the  world  ;  her  works  of  fame 
Have  lived  indeed,  but  lived  without  a  name. 
Some  tawny  Ceres,  goddess  of  her  days, 
First  learn'd  with  stones  to  crack  the  well  dried  maize, 
Through  the  rough  sieve  to  shake  the  golden  shower, 
In  boiling  water  stir  the  yellow  flour  : 
The  yellow  flour,  bestrew'd  and  stirr'd  with  haste, 
Swells  in  the  flood  and  thickens  to  a  paste, 
Then  puffs  and  wallops,  rises  to  the  brim, 
Drinks  the  dry  knobs  that  on  the  surface  swim  ; 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  149 

The  knobs  at  last  the  busy  ladle  breaks, 

And  the  whole  mass  its  true  consistence  takes. 

Could  but  her  sacred  name,  unknown  so  long, 
Rise,  like  her  labors,  to  the  son  of  song, 
To  her,  to  them,  I  'd  consecrate  my  lays, 
And  blow  her  pudding  with  the  breath  of  praise. 
If  't  was  Oella  whom  I  sang  before 
I  here  ascribe  her  one  great  virtue  more. 
Not  through  the  rich  Peruvian  realms  alone 
The  fame  of  Sol's  sweet  daughter  should  be  known, 
But  o'er  the  world's  wide  clime  should  live  secure, 
Far  as  his  rays  extend,  as  long  as  they  endure. 

Dear  Hasty  Pudding,  what  unpromised  joy 
Expands  my  heart,  to  meet  thee  in  Savoy ! 
Doom'd  o'er  the  world  through  devious  paths  to  roam, 
Each  clime  my  country,  and  each  house  my  home, 
My  soul  is  soothed,  my  cares  have  found  an  end, 
I  greet  my  long  lost,  unforgotten  friend. 

For  thee  through  Paris,  that  corrupted  town, 
How  long  in  vain  I  wandered  up  and  down, 
Where  shameless  Bacchus,  with  his  drenching  hoard, 
Cold  from  his  cave  usurps  the  morning  board. 
London  is  lost  in  smoke  and  steep 'd  in  tea ; 
No  Yankee  there  can  lisp  the  name  of  thee ; 
The  uncouth  word,  a  libel  on  the  town, 
Would  call  a  proclamation  from  the  crown. 
From  climes  oblique,  that  fear  the  sun's  full  rays, 
Chill'd  in  their  fogs,  exclude  the  generous  maize : 
A  grain,  whose  rich,  luxuriant  growth  requires 
Short  gentle  showers,  and  bright  ethereal  fires. 

But  here,  though  distant  from  our  native  shore, 
With  mutual  glee,  we  meet  and  laugh  once  more, 
The  same  !    I  know  thee  by  that  yellow  face, 
That  strong  complexion  of  true  Indian  race, 
Which  time  can  never  change,  nor  soil  impair, 
Nor  Alpine  snows,  nor  Turkey's  morbid  air ; 


ISO        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

For  endless  years,  through  every  mild  domain, 
Where  grows  the  maize,  there  thou  art  sure  to  reign. 

But  man,  more  fickle,  the  bold  license  claims, 
In  different  realms  to  give  thee  different  names. 
Thee  the  soft  nations  round  the  warm  Levant 
Polenta  call,  the  French  of  course  Polente. 
E'en  in  thy  native  regions,  how  I  blush 
To  hear  the  Pennsylvanians  call  thee  Mush  ! 
On  Hudson's  banks,  while  men  of  Belgic  spawn 
Insult  and  eat  thee  by  the  name  Suppawn. 
All  spurious  appellations,  void  of  truth  ; 
I  've  better  known  thee  from  my  earliest  youth, 
Thy  name  is  Hasty  Piidding  !   thus  my  sire 
Was  wont  to  greet  thee  fuming  from  his  fire  ; 
And  while  he  argued  in  thy  just  defence 
With  logic  clear,  he  thus  explain'd  the  sense  :  — 
"In  haste  the  boiling  cauldron  o'er  the  blaze, 
Receives  and  cooks  the  ready  powder'd  maize ; 
In  haste  't  is  served,  and  then  in  equal  haste, 
With  cooling  milk,  we  make  the  sweet  repast. 
No  carving  to  be  done,  no  knife  to  grate 
The  tender  ear,  and  wound  the  stony  plate ; 
But  the  smooth  spoon,  just  fitted  to  the  lip, 
And  taught  with  art  the  yielding  mass  to  dip, 
By  frequent  journeys  to  the  bowl  well  stored, 
Performs  the  hasty  honors  of  the  board." 
Such  is  thy  name,  significant  land  clear, 
A  name,  a  sound  to  every  Yankee  dear, 
But  most  to  me,  whose  heart  and  palate  chaste 
Preserve  my  pure  hereditary  taste. 

There  are  who  strive  to  stamp  with  disrepute 
The  luscious  food,  because  it  feeds  the  brute, 
In  tropes  of  high-strain'd  wit ;  while  gaudy  prigs 
Compare  thy  nursling,  man,  to  pamper'd  pigs ; 
With  sovereign  scorn  I  treat  the  vulgar  jest, 
Nor  fear  to  share  thy  bounties  with  the  beast. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  151 

What  though  the  generous  cow  gives  me  to  quaff 

The  milk  nutritious  :  am  I  then  a  calf  ? 

Or  can  the  genius  of  the  noisy  swine, 

Though  nursed  on  pudding,  claim  a  kin  to  mine  ? 

Sure  the  sweet  song,  I  fashion  to  thy  praise, 

Runs  more  melodious  than  the  notes  they  raise. 

My  song  resounding  in  its  grateful  glee, 
No  merit  claims  :  I  praise  myself  in  thee. 
My  father  loved  thee  through  his  length  of  days ! 
For  thee  his  fields  were  shaded  o'er  with  maize ; 
From  thee  what  health,  what  vigor  he  possess 'd, 
Ten  sturdy  freemen  from  his  loins  attest ; 
Thy  constellation  ruled  my  natal  morn, 
And  all  my  bones  were  made  of  Indian  corn. 
Delicious  grain  !  whatever  form  it  take, 
To  roast  or  boil,  to  smother  or  to  bake, 
In  every  dish  't  is  welcome  still  to  me, 
But  most,  my  Hasty  Pudding,  most  in  thee. 

Let  the  green  succotash  with  thee  contend, 
Let  beans  and  corn  their  sweetest  juices  blend, 
Let  butter  drench  them  in  its  yellow  tide, 
And  a  long  slice  of  bacon  grace  their  side ; 
Not  all  the  plate,  how  famed  soe'er  it  be, 
Can  please  my  palate  like  a  bowl  of  thee. 
Some  talk  of  Hoe-Cake,  fair  Virginia's  pride, 
Rich  Johnny-Cake  this  mouth  has  often  tried  ; 
Both  please  me  well,  their  virtues  much  the  same, 
Alike  their  fabric,  as  allied  their  fame, 
Except  in  dear  New  England,  where  the  last 
Receives  a  dash  of  pumpkin  in  the  paste, 
To  give  it  sweetness  and  improve  the  taste. 
But  place  them  all  before  me,  smoking  hot, 
The  big,  round  dumpling,  rolling  from  the  pot, 
The  pudding  of  the  bag,  whose  quivering  breast, 
With  suet  lined,  leads  on  the  Yankee  feast, 
The  Charlotte  brown,  within  whose  crusty  sides 


152         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

A  belly  soft  the  pulpy  apple  hides  ; 
The  yellow  bread  whose  face  like  amber  glows, 
And  all  of  Indian  that  the  bake-pan  knows,  — 
You  tempt  me  not  —  my  fav'rite  greets  my  eyes, 
To  that  loved  bowl  my  spoon  by  instinct  flies. 


ST.  GEORGE  TUCKER 

[Born  at  Bermuda,  June  29,  1752  ;  died  in  Nelson  County,  Virginia, 
November,  1827] 

DAYS  OF  MY  YOUTH 

Days  of  my  youth, 

Ye  have  glided  away ; 
Hairs  of  my  youth, 

Ye  are  frosted  and  gray ; 
Eyes  of  my  youth, 

Your  keen  sight  is  no  more ; 
Cheeks  of  my  youth, 

Ye  are  furrowed  all  o'er ; 
Strength  of  my  youth, 

All  your  vigor  is  gone ; 
Thoughts  of  my  youth, 

Your  gay  visions  are  flown. 

Days  of  my  youth, 

I  wish  not  your  recall ; 
Hairs  of  my  youth, 

I  'm  content  ye  should  fall ; 
Eyes  of  my  youth, 

You  much  evil  have  seen  ; 
Cheeks  of  my  youth, 

Bathed  in  tears  have  you  been ; 
Thoughts  of  my  youth, 

You  have  led  me  astray ; 
Strength  of  my  youth, 

Why  lament  your  decay  ? 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  153 

Days  of  my  age, 

Ye  will  shortly  be  past ; 
Pains-  of  my  age, 

Yet  awhile  ye  can  last ; 
Joys  of  my  age, 

In  true  wisdom  delight ; 
Eyes  of  my  age, 

Be  religion  your  light ; 
Thoughts  of  my  age, 

Dread  ye  not  the  cold  sod  ; 
Hopes  of  my  age, 

Be  ye  fixed  on  your  God. 


OCCASIONAL  POEMS  OF  THE  REVOLUTIONARY 

PERIOD 

THE  BATTLE   OF  THE  KEGS 

This  ballad  was  occasioned  by  a  real  incident.  Certain  machines,  in  the 
form  of  kegs,  charged  with  gunpowder,  were  sent  down  the  river  to  annoy 
the  British  shipping  then  at  Philadelphia.  The  danger  of  these  machines  being 
discovered,  the  British  manned  the  wharfs  and  shipping,  and  discharged  their 
small  arms  and  cannons  at  everything  they  saw  floating  in  the  river  during  the 
ebb-tide.  —  Author's  Note. 

Gallants  attend  and  hear  a  friend 

Trill  forth  harmonious  ditty, 
Strange  things  I  '11  tell  which  late  befell 

In  Philadelphia  city. 

'T  was  early  day,  as  poets  say, 

Just  when  the  sun  was  rising. 
A  soldier  stood  on  a  log  of  wood, 

And  saw  a  thing  surprising. 

As  in  amaze  he  stood  to  gaze, 

The  truth  can't  be  denied,  sir, 
He  spied  a  score  of  kegs  or  more 

Come  floating  down  the  tide,  sir. 


154        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

A  sailor  too  in  jerkin  blue, 

This  strange  appearance  viewing, 

First  damned  his  eyes,  in  great  surprise, 
Then  said,  "  Some  mischief  's  brewing. 

"  These  kegs,  I  'm  told,  the  rebels  hold, 
Packed  up  like  pickled  herring ; 

And  they  're  come  down  to  attack  the  town, 
In  this  new  way  of  ferrying." 

The  soldier  flew,  the  sailor  too, 
And  scared  almost  to  death,  sir, 

Wore  out  their  shoes,  to  spread  the  news, 
And  ran  till  out  of  breath,  sir. 

Now  up  and  down  throughout  the  town, 
Most  frantic  scenes  were  acted ; 

And  some  ran  here,  and  others  there, 
Like  men  almost  distracted. 

Some  fire  cried,  which  some  denied, 
But  said  the  earth  had  quaked ; 

And  girls  and  boys,  with  hideous  noise, 
Ran  through  the  streets  half  naked. 

Sir  William  he,  snug  as  a  flea, 

Lay  all  this  time  a-snoring, 
Nor  dreamed  of  harm  as  he  lay  warm, 

In  bed  with  Mrs.  Loring. 

Now  in  a  fright,  he  starts  upright, 

Awaked  by  such  a  clatter ; 
He  rubs  both  eyes,  and  boldly  cries, 

"  For  God's  sake,  what 's  the  matter  ? ' 

At  his  bedside  he  then  espied, 

Sir  Erskine  at  command,  sir, 
Upon  one  foot  he  had  one  boot, 

And  th'  other  in  his  hand,  sir. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  155 

"  Arise,  arise,"  Sir  Erskine  cries, 

"  The  rebels  —  more  's  the  pity, 
Without  a  boat  are  all  afloat, 

And  ranged  before  the  city. 

"  The  motley  crew,  in  vessels  new, 

With  Satan  for  their  guide,  sir, 
Packed  up  in  bags,  or  wooden  kegs, 

Come  driving  down  the  tide,  sir. 

"  Therefore  prepare  for  bloody  war, 

These  kegs  must  all  be  routed, 
Or  surely  we  despised  shall  be, 

And  British  courage  doubted." 

The  royal  band  now  ready  stand 

All  ranged  in  dread  array,  sir, 
With  stomach  stout  to  see  it  out, 

And  make  a  bloody  day,  sir. 

The  cannons  roar  from  shore  to  shore, 

The  small  arms  make  a  rattle  ; 
Since  wars  began  I  'm  sure  no  man 

E'er  saw  so  strange  a  battle. 

The  rebel  dales,  the  rebel  vales, 

With  rebel  trees  surrounded, 
The  distant  woods,  the  hills  and  floods, 

With  rebel  echoes  sounded. 

The  fish  below  swam  to  and  fro, 

Attacked  from  every  quarter ; 
Why  sure,  thought  they,  the  devil 's  to  pay, 

'Mongst  folks  above  the  water. 

The  kegs,  't  is  said,  though  strongly  made, 

Of  rebel  staves  and  hoops,  sir, 
Could  not  oppose  their  powerful  foes, 

The  conquering  British  troops,  sir. 


156        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

From  morn  to  night  these  men  of  might 

Displayed  amazing  courage ; 
And  when  the  sun  was  fairly  down, 

Retired  to  sup  their  porridge. 

A  hundred  men  with  each  a  pen, 

Or  more  upon  my  word,  sir, 
It  is  most  true  would  be  too  few, 

Their  valor  to  record,  sir. 

Such  feats  did  they  perform  that  day, 

Against  these  wicked  kegs,  sir, 
That  years  to  come,  if  they  get  home, 

They  '11  make  their  boasts  and  brags,  sir. 

FRANCIS  HOPKINSON 


THE  BALLAD  OF  NATHAN  HALE 

The  breezes  went  steadily  through  the  tall  pines, 

A-saying,  "  Oh  !  hu-ush  !  "  a-saying  "  Oh  !  hu-ush  !  " 

As  stilly  stole  by  a  bold  legion  of  horse, 

For  Hale  in  the  bush ;  for  Hale  in  the  bush. 

"  Keep  still !  "  said  the  thrush  as  she  nestled  her  young, 
In  a  nest  by  the  road ;  in  a  nest  by  the  road. 

"  For  the  tyrants  are  near,  and  with  them  appear 
What  bodes  us  no  good;  what  bodes  us  no  good." 

The  brave  captain  heard  it,  and  thought  of  his  home 
In  a  cot  by  the  brook ;  in  a  cot  by  the  brook. 

With  mother  and  sister  and  memories  dear, 
He  so  gayly  forsook  ;  he  so  gayly  forsook. 

Cooling  shades  of  the  night  were  coming  apace, 
The  tattoo  had  beat ;  the  tattoo  had  beat. 

The  noble  one  sprang  from  his  dark  lurking-place, 
To  make  his  retreat ;  to  make  his  retreat. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  157 

He  warily  trod  on  the  dry  rustling  leaves, 

As  he  passed  through  the  wood ;  as  he  passed  through  the  wood ; 
And  silently  gained  his  rude  launch  on  the  shore, 

As  she  played  with  the  flood ;  as  she  played  with  the  flood. 

The  guards  of  the  camp,  on  that  dark,  dreary  night, 

Had  a  murderous  will ;  had  a  murderous  will. 
They  took  him  and  bore  him  afar  from  the  shore, 

To  a  hut  on  the  hill ;  to  a  hut  on  the  hill. 

No  mother  was  there,  nor  a  friend  who  could  cheer, 
In  that  little  stone  cell ;  in  that  little  stone  cell. 

But  he  trusted  in  love,  from  his  Father  above. 

In  his  heart  all  was  well ;  in  his  heart  all  was  well. 

An  ominous  owl,  with  his  solemn  bass  voice, 

Sat  moaning  hard  by  ;  sat  moaning  hard  by  : 
"  The  tyrant's  proud  minions  most  gladly  rejoice, 

For  he  must  soon  die  ;  for  he  must  soon  die." 

The  brave  fellow  told  them,  no  thing  he  restrained,  — 

The  cruel  general !  the  cruel  general !  — 
His  errand  from  camp,  of  the  ends  to  be  gained, 

And  said  that  was  all ;  and  said  that  was  all. 

They  took  him  and  bound  him  and  bore  him  away, 

Down  the  hill's  grassy  side  ;  down  the  hill's  grassy  side, 

'T  was  there  the  base  hirelings,  in  royal  array, 
His  cause  did  deride  ;  his  cause  did  deride. 

Five  minutes  were  given,  short  moments,  no  more, 

For  him  to  repent ;  for  him  to  repent. 
He  prayed  for  his  mother,  he  asked  not  another, 

To  Heaven  he  went ;  to  Heaven  he  went. 

The  faith  of  a  martyr  the  tragedy  showed, 

As  he  trode  the  last  stage ;  as  he  trode  the  last  stage. 


158        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  Britons  will  shudder  at  gallant  Hale's  blood, 
As  his  words  do  presage ;  as  his  words  do  presage. 

"  Thou  pale  king  of  terrors,  thou  life's  gloomy  foe, 
Go  frighten  the  slave  ;  go  frighten  the  slave  ; 

Tell  tyrants,  to  you  their  allegiance  they  owe. 
No  fears  for  the  brave ;  no  fears  for  the  brave." 

ANONYMOUS 

BATTLE  OF  TRENTON 

On  Christmas-day  in  seventy-six, 

Our  ragged  troops,  with  bayonets  fixed, 

For  Trenton  marched  away. 
The  Delaware  see  !  the  boats  below  ! 
The  light  obscured  by  hail  and  snow  ! 

But  no  signs  of  dismay. 

Our  object  was  the  Hessian  band, 
That  dared  invade  fair  freedom's  land, 

And  quarter  in  that  place. 
Great  Washington  he  led  us  on, 
Whose  streaming  flag,  in  storm  or  sun, 

Had  never  known  disgrace. 

In  silent  march  we  passed  the  night, 
Each  soldier  panting  for  the  fight, 

Though  quite  benumbed  with  frost. 
Greene  on  the  left  at  six  began, 
The  right  was  led  by  Sullivan, 

Who  ne'er  a  moment  lost. 

Their  pickets  stormed,  the  alarm  was  spread, 
That  rebels  risen  from  the  dead 

Were  marching  into  town. 
Some  scampered  here,  some  scampered  there, 
And  some  for  action  did  prepare ; 

But  soon  their  arms  laid  down. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  159 

Twelve  hundred  servile  miscreants, 
With  all  their  colors,  guns,  and  tents, 

Were  trophies  of  the  day. 
The  frolic  o'er,  the  bright  canteen, 
In  centre,  front,  and  rear  was  seen 

Driving  fatigue  away. 

Now,  brothers  of  the  patriot  bands, 
Let 's  sing  deliverance  from  the  hands 

Of  arbitrary  sway. 
And  as  our  life  is  but  a  span, 
Let 's  touch  the  tankard  while  we  can, 

In  memory  of  that  day. 

ANONYMOUS 


ROYALL  TYLER 

[Born  at  Boston,  Massachusetts,  July  18,  1757  ;  died  at  Brattleboro,  Vermont, 

August  1 6,  1826] 

THE  CONTRAST,  A  COMEDY  IN  FIVE  ACTS 

THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  COMEDY  REGULARLY  PRODUCED.   WRITTEN  BY  A 

CITIZEN  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.    PERFORMED  IN  1787,  AT  THE  THEATRE 

IN  JOHN  STREET,  NEW  YORK,  1 790 

FROM  THE  "ADVERTISEMENT" 

"  In  justice  to  the  Author  it  may  be  proper  to  observe  that  this 
Comedy  has  many  claims  to  the  public  indulgence,  independent 
of  its  intrinsic  merits  :  It  is  the  first  essay  of  American  genius  in 
a  difficult  species  of  composition  ;  it  was  written  by  one  who  never 
critically  studied  the  rules  of  the  drama,  and  indeed,  has  seen  but 
few  of  the  exhibitions  of  the  stage  ;  it  was  undertaken  and  finished 
in  the  course  of  three  weeks ;  and  the  profits  of  one  night's  per 
formance  were  appropriated  to  the  benefit  of  the  sufferers  by  the 
fire  at  Boston." 


160        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

PROLOGUE,  IN  REBUKE  OF  THE  PREVAILING  ANGLOMANIA 

Exult  each  patriot  heart !  —  this  night  is  shown 

A  piece  which  we  may  fairly  call  our  own  ; 

Where  the  proud  titles  of  "My  Lord  !  Your  Grace  !  " 

To  humble  "  Mr."  and  plain  "  Sir  "  give  place. 

Our  author  pictures  not  from  foreign  climes 

The  fashions,  or  the  follies  of  the  times  ; 

But  has  confined  the  subject  of  his  work 

To  the  gay  scenes  —  the  circles  of  New  York. 

On  native  themes  his  Muse  displays  her  powers ; 

If  ours  the  faults,  the  virtues  too  are  ours. 

Why  should  our  thoughts  to  distant  countries  roam, 

When  each  refinement  can  be  found  at  home  ? 

Who  travels  now  to  ape  the  rich  or  great, 

To  deck  an  equipage  and  roll  in  state ; 

To  court  the  graces,  or  to  dance  with  ease,  — 

Or  by  hypocrisy  to  strive  to  please  ? 

Our  free-born  ancestors  such  arts  despised  ; 

Genuine  sincerity  alone  they  prized  ; 

Their  minds  with  honest  emulation  fired, 

To  solid  good  —  not  ornament  —  aspired  ; 

Or,  if  ambition  roused  a  bolder  flame, 

Stern  virtue  throve,  where  indolence  was  shame. 

But  modern  youths,  with  imitative  sense, 
Deem  taste  in  dress  the  proof  of  excellence ; 
And  spurn  the  meanness  of  your  homespun  arts, 
Since  homespun  habits  would  obscure  their  parts ; 
Whilst  all,  which  aims  at  splendor  and  parade, 
Must  come  from  Europe,  and  be  ready  made. 
Strange  we  should  thus  our  native  worth  disclaim, 
And  check  the  progress  of  our  rising  fame. 
Yet  one,  whilst  imitation  bears  the  sway, 
Aspires  to  nobler  heights,  and  points  the  way. 
Be  roused,  my  friends  !  his  bold  example  view  ; 
Let  your  own  bards  be  proud  to  copy  you  ! 
Should  rigid  critics  reprobate  our  play, 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY   PERIOD  l6l 

At  least  the  patriotic  heart  will  say, 

"  Glorious  our  fall,  since  in  a  noble  cause ; 

The  bold  attempt  alone  demands  applause." 

Still  may  the  wisdom  of  the  Comic  Muse 

Exalt  your  merits,  or  your  faults  accuse. 

But  think  not  't  is  her  aim  to  be  severe ;  — 

We  all  are  mortals,  and  as  mortals  err. 

If  candor  pleases,  we  are  truly  blest ; 

Vice  trembles,  when  compelled  to  stand  confessed. 

Let  not  light  censure  on  your  faults  offend, 

Which  aims  not  to  expose  them,  but  amend. 

Thus  does  our  author  to  your  candor  trust ; 

Conscious  the  free  are  generous,  as  just. 

ACT  I,  SCENE  1  — CHIT-CHAT  OF  TWO  MANHATTAN  BELLES 
SCENE.    An  Apartment  at  Charlotte's 
CHARLOTTE  and  LETITIA  discovered 

LETITIA.  And  so,  Charlotte,  you  really  think  the  pocket-hoop 
unbecoming. 

CHARLOTTE.  No,  I  don't  say  so.  It  may  be  very  becoming  to 
saunter  round  the  house  of  a  rainy  day ;  to  visit  my  grandmamma, 
or  to  go  to  Quakers'  meeting ;  but  to  swim  in  a  minuet  with 
the  eyes  of  fifty  well-dressed  beaux  upon  me,  to  trip  it  in  the 
Mall,  or  walk  on  the  Battery,  give  me  the  luxurious,  jaunty,  flow 
ing  bell-hoop.  It  would  have  delighted  you  to  have  seen  me  the 
last  evening,  my  charming  girl ;  I  was  dangling  o'er  the  Battery 
with  Billy  Dimple ;  a  knot  of  young  fellows  were  upon  the  plat 
form  ;  as  I  passed  them  I  faltered  with  one  of  the  most  bewitch 
ing  false  steps  you  ever  saw,  and  then  recovered  myself  with  such 
a  pretty  confusion,  flirting  my  hoop  to  discover  a  jet-black  shoe 
and  brilliant  buckle.  Gad  !  how  my  little  heart  thrilled  to  hear 
the  confused  raptures  of-  "  Demme,  Jack,  what  a  delicate  foot !  " 
"  Ha  !  General,  what  a  well  turned  — 

LET.  Fie !  fie !  Charlotte  (Stopping  her  mouth}  I  protest  you 
are  quite  a  libertine. 


162         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

CHARL.  Why,  my  dear  little  prude,  are  we  not  all  such  liber 
tines  ?  Do  you  think  that  when  I  sat  tortured  two  hours  under 
the  hands  of  my  friseur,  and  an  hour  more  at  my  toilet,  that  I 
had  any  thought  of  my  aunt  Susan,  or  my  cousin  Betsey  ?  though 
they  are  both  allowed  to  be  critical  judges  of  dress. 

LET.  Why,  whom  should  we  dress  to  please,  but  those  who 
are  judges  of  its  merit  ? 

CHARL.  Why  a  creature  who  does  not  know  Buffon  from  Souflee 
—  Man !  — my  Letitia — Man !  for  whom  we  dress,  walk,  dance,  talk, 
lisp,  languish,  and  smile.  Does  not  the  grave  Spectator  assure  us, 
that  even  our  much  bepraised  diffidence,  modesty,  and  blushes,  are 
all  directed  to  make  ourselves  good  wives  and  mothers  as  fast  as  we 
can.  Why,  I  '11  undertake  with  one  flirt  of  this  hoop  to  bring  more 
beaux  to  my  feet  in  one  week,  than  the  grave  Maria,  and  her  senti 
mental  circle,  can  do,  by  sighing  sentiment  till  their  hairs  are  gray. 

LET.  Well,  I  won't  argue  with  you  ;  you  always  out-talk  me ; 
let  us  change  the  subject.  I  hear  that  Mr.  Dimple  and  Maria  are 
soon  to  be  married. 

CHARL.  You  hear  true.  I  was  consulted  in  the  choice  of  the 
wedding  clothes.  She  is  to  be  married  in  a  delicate  white  satin, 
and  has  a  monstrous  pretty  brocaded  lutestring  for  the  second  day. 
It  would  have  done  you  good  to  have  seen  with  what  an  affected 
indifference  the  dear  sentimentalist  turned  over  a  thousand  pretty 
things,  just  as  if  her  heart  did  not  palpitate  with  her  approaching 
happiness,  and  at  last  made  her  choice,  and  arranged  her  dress 
with  such  apathy,  as  if  she  did  not  know  that  plain  white  satin,  and 
a  simple  blond  lace,  would  show  her  clear  skin,  and  dark  hair,  to 
the  greatest  advantage. 

LET.  But  they  say  her  indifference  to  dress,  and  even  to  the 
gentleman  himself,  is  not  entirely  affected. 

CHARL.    How  ? 

LET.  It  is  whispered  that  if  Maria  gives  her  hand  to  Mr.  Dimple, 
it  will  be  without  her  heart. 

CHARL.  Though  the  giving  of  the  heart  is  one  of  the  last  of 
all  laughable  considerations  in  the  marriage  of  a  girl  of  spirit,  yet 
I  should  like  to  hear  what  antiquated  notions  the  dear  little  piece 
of  old-fashioned  prudery  has  got  in  her  head. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  163 

LET.  Why  you  know  that  old  Mr.  John-Richard-Robert-Jacob- 
Isaac-Abraham-Cornelius  Van  Dumpling,  Billy  Dimple's  father 
(for  he  has  thought  fit  to  soften  his  name  as  well  as  his  manners, 
during  his  English  tour),  was  the  most  intimate  friend  of  Maria's 
father.  The  old  folks,  about  a  year  before  Mr.  Van  Dumpling's 
death,  proposed  this  match  :  the  young  folks  were  accordingly  in 
troduced,  and  told  they  must  love  one  another.  Billy  was  then  a 
good-natured,  decent,  dressing  young  fellow,  with  a  little  dash  of 
the  coxcomb,  such  as  our  young  fellows  of  fortune  usually  have. 
At  this  time,  I  really  believe,  she  thought  she  loved  him  ;  and  had 
they  then  been  married,  I  doubt  not,  they  might  have  jogged  on,  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter,  a  good  kind  of  sing-song  lackadaisical  life, 
as  other  honest  married  folks  do. 

CHARL.    Why  did  they  not  then  marry  ? 

LET.  Upon  the  death  of  his  father,  Billy  went  to  England  to 
see  the  world  and  rub  off  a  little  of  the  patroon  rust.  During  his 
absence,  Maria,  like  a  good  girl,  to  keep  herself  constant  to  her  own 
true  love,  avoided  company,  and  betook  herself,  for  her  amuse 
ment,  to  her  books,  and  her  dear  Billy's  letters.  But,  alas  !  how 
many  ways  has  the  mischievous  demon  of  inconstancy  of  stealing 
into  a  woman's  heart !  Her  love  was  destroyed  by  the  very  means 
she  took  to  support  it. 

CHARL.  How?  —  Oh!  I  have  it  —  some  likely  young  beau 
found  the  way  to  her  study. 

LET.  Be  patient,  Charlotte,  your  head  so  runs  upon  beaux.  — 
Why  she  read  "  Sir  Charles  Grandison,"  "  Clarissa  Harlowe," 
"  Shenstone,"  and  the  "Sentimental  Journey";  and  between 
whiles,  as  I  said,  Billy's  letters.  But  as  her  taste  improved,  her 
love  declined.  The  contrast  was  so  striking  betwixt  the  good  sense 
of  her  books,  and  the  flimsiness  of  her  love-letters,  that  she  dis 
covered  that  she  had  unthinkingly  engaged  her  hand  without  her 
heart ;  and  then  the  whole  transaction  managed  by  the  old  folks 
now  appeared  so  unsentimental,  and  looked  so  like  bargaining  for 
a  bale  of  goods,  that  she  found  she  ought  to  have  rejected,  accord 
ing  to  every  rule  of  romance,  even  the  man  of  her  choice,  if  im 
posed  upon  her  in  that  manner  —  Clary  Harlowe  would  have  scorned 
such  a  match. 


164        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

CHARL.  Well,  how  was  it  on  Mr.  Dimple's  return  ?  Did  he 
meet  a  more  favorable  reception  than  his  letters  ? 

LET.  Much  the  same.  She  spoke  of  him  with  respect  abroad, 
and  with  contempt  in  her  closet.  She  watched  his  conduct  and 
conversation,  and  found  that  he  had  by  travelling  acquired  the 
wickedness  of  Lovelace  without  his  wit,  and  the  politeness  of 
Sir  Charles  Grandison  without  his  generosity.  The  ruddy  youth 
who  washed  his  face  at  the  cistern  every  morning,  and  swore  and 
looked  eternal  love  and  constancy,  was  now  metamorphosed  into  a 
flippant,  pallid,  polite  beau,  who  devotes  the  morning  to  his  toilet, 
reads  a  few  pages  of  "Chesterfield's  Letters,"  and  then  minces 
out,  to  put  the  infamous  principles  in  practice  upon  every  woman 
he  meets. 

CHARL.  But  if  she  is  so  apt  at  conjuring  up  these  sentimental 
bugbears,  why  does  she  not  discard  him  at  once  ? 

LET.  Why,  she  thinks  her  word  too  sacred  to  be  trifled  with. 
Besides,  her  father,  who  has  a  great  respect  for  the  memory  of 
his  deceased  friend,  is  ever  telling  her  how  he  shall  renew  his 
years  in  their  union,  and  repeating  the  dying  injunctions  of  old 
Van  Dumpling. 

CHARL.  A  mighty  pretty  story !  And  so  you  would  make  me 
believe  that  the  sensible  Maria  would  give  up  Dumpling  manor, 
and  the  all-accomplished  Dimple  as  a  husband,  for  the  absurd, 
ridiculous  reason,  forsooth,  because  she  despises  and  abhors  him. 
Just  as  if  a  lady  could  not  be  privileged  to  spend  a  man's  fortune, 
ride  in  his  carriage,  be  called  after  his  name,  and  call  him  her  own 
dear-lovee  when  she  wants  money,  without  loving  and  respecting 
the  great  he-creature.  Oh !  my  dear  girl,  you  are  a  monstrous  prude. 
LET.  I  don't  say  what  I  would  do ;  I  only  intimate  how  I  sup 
pose  she  wishes  to  act. 

CHARL.  No,  no,  no!  a  fig  for  sentiment.  If  she  breaks,  or 
wishes  to  break,  with  Mr.  Dimple,  depend  upon  it,  she  has  some 
other  man  in  her  eye.  A  woman  rarely  discards  one  lover  until 
she  is  sure  of  another.  —  Letitia  little  thinks  what  a  clew  I  have  to 
Dimple's  conduct.  The  generous  man  submits  to  render  himself 
disgusting  to  Maria,  in  order  that  she  may  leave  him  at  liberty  to 
address  me.  I  must  change  the  subject.  (Aside,  and  rings  a  bell.) 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  165 

Enter  Servant 

Frank,  order  the  horses  to.  —  Talking  of  marriage  —  did  you 
hear  that  Sally  Bloomsbury  is  going  to  be  married  next  week  to 
Mr.  Indigo,  the  rich  Carolinian  ? 

LET.  Sally  Bloomsbury  married !  —  Why  she  is  not  yet  in  her 
teens. 

CHARL.  I  do  not  know  how  that  is,  but  you  may  depend  upon 
it,  't  is  a  done  affair.  I  have  it  from  the  best  authority.  There  is 
my  Aunt  Wyerley's  Hannah  (You  know  Hannah  —  though  a  black, 
she  is  a  wench  that  was  never  caught  in  a  lie  in  her  life) ;  now 
Hannah  has  a  brother  who  courts  Sarah,  Mrs.  Catgut  the  milliner's 
girl,  and  she  told  Hannah's  brother,  and  Hannah,  who,  as  I  said 
before,  is  a  girl  of  undoubted  veracity,  told  it  directly  to  me,  that 
Mrs.  Catgut  was  making  a  new  cap  for  Miss  Bloomsbury,  which, 
as  it  was  very  dressy,  it  is  very  probable  is  designed  for  a  wed 
ding  cap  ;  now,  as  she  is  to  be  married,  who  can  it  be  to,  but  to 
Mr.  Indigo  ?  Why,  there  is  no  other  gentleman  that  visits  at  her 
papa's. 

LET.  Say  not  a  word  more,  Charlotte.  Your  intelligence  is  so 
direct  and  well  grounded,  it  is  almost  a  pity  that  it  is  not  a  piece 
of  scandal. 

CHARL.  Oh !  I  am  the  pink  of  prudence.  Though  I  cannot 
charge  myself  with  ever  having  discredited  a  tea-party  by  my  silence, 
yet  I  take  care  never  to  report  anything  of  my  acquaintance,  es 
pecially  if  it  is  to  their  credit  —  discredit  I  mean  —  until  I  have 
searched  to  the  bottom  of  it.  It  is  true  there  is  infinite  pleasure  in 
this  charitable  pursuit.  Oh  !  how  delicious  to  go  and  condole  with 
the  friends  of  some  backsliding  sister,  or  to  retire  with  some  old 
dowager  or  maiden  aunt  of  the  family,  who  love  scandal  so  well, 
that  they  cannot  forbear  gratifying  their  appetite  at  the  expense  of 
the  reputation  of  their  nearest  relations.  And  then  to  return  full- 
fraught  with  a  rich  collection  of  circumstances,  to  retail  to  the  next 
circle  of  our  acquaintance  under  the  strongest  injunctions  of  secrecy, 
—  ha,  ha,  ha !  —  interlarding  the  melancholy  tale  with  so  many  doleful 
shakes  of  the  head,  and  more  doleful  "  Ah !  who  would  have  thought 
it !  so  amiable,  so  prudent  a  young  lady,  as  we  all  thought  her,  what 


166        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

a  monstrous  pity !  well,  I  have  nothing  to  charge  myself  with ;  I 
acted  the  part  of  a  friend,  I  warned  her  of  the  principles  of  that 
rake,  I  told  her  what  would  be  the  consequence ;  I  told  her  so,  I 
told  her  so."  —  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

LET.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Well,  but  Charlotte,  you  don't  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  Miss  Bloomsbury's  match. 

CHARL.  Think  !  why  I  think  it  is  probable  she  cried  for  a  play 
thing,  and  they  have  given  her  a  husband.  Well,  well,  well,  the 
puling  chit  shall  not  be  deprived  of  her  plaything :  't  is  only  ex 
changing  London  dolls  for  American  babies  —  apropos,  of  babies, 
have  you  heard  what  Mrs.  Affable's  high  flying  notions  of  delicacy 
have  come  to  ? 

LET.    Who,  she  that  was  Miss  Lovely  ? 

CHARL.  The  same ;  she  married  Bob  Affable  of  Schenectady. 
Don't  you  remember  ? 

Enter  Servant 

SERVANT.    Madam,  the  carriage  is  ready. 

LET.    Shall  we  go  to  the  stores  first,  or  visiting  ? 

CHARL.  I  should  think  it  rather  too  early  to  visit ;  especially 
Mrs.  Prim  :  you  know  she  is  so  particular. 

LET.    But  what  of  Mrs.  Affable  ? 

CHARL.  Oh,  I  '11  tell  you  as  we  go  ;  come,  come,  let  us  hasten. 
I  hear  Mrs.  Catgut  has  some  of  the  prettiest  caps  arrived,  you  ever 
saw.  I  shall  die  if  I  have  not  the  first  sight  of  them. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  167 


CHARLES   BROCKDEN   BROWN 

[Born  at  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  January  17,  1771  ;  died 
February  22,  1810] 

WIELAND'S    DEFENCE 

(WlELAND;    OR   THE   TRANSFORMATION,    1798) 

Theodore  Wieland,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  was  now  called  upon 
for  his  defence.  He  looked  around  him  for  some  time  in  silence, 
and  with  a  mild  countenance.  At  length  he  spoke  :  — 

"It  is  strange  :  I  am  known  to  my  judges  and  my  auditors. 
Who  is  there  present  a  stranger  to  the  character  of  Wieland  ? 
who  knows  him  not  as  a  husband,  —  as  a  father,  —  as  a  friend  ? 
yet  here  am  I  arraigned  as  a  criminal.  I  am  charged  with  dia 
bolical  malice ;  I  am  accused  of  the  murder  of  my  wife  and  my 
children ! 

"It  is  true,  they  were  slain  by  me  ;  they  all  perished  by  my 
hand.  The  task  of  vindication  is  ignoble.  What  is  it  that  I  am 
called  to  vindicate  ?  and  before  whom  ? 

11  You  know  that  they  are  dead,  and  that  they  were  killed  by  me. 
What  more  would  you  have  ?  Would  you  extort  from  me  a  state 
ment  of  my  motives  ?  Have  you  failed  to  discover  them  already  ? 
You  charge  me  with  malice ;  but  your  eyes  are  not  shut ;  your 
reason  is  still  vigorous ;  your  memory  has  not  forsaken  you.  You 
know  whom  it  is  that  you  thus  charge.  The  habits  of  his  life  are 
known  to  you  ;  his  treatment  of  his  wife  and  his  offspring  is  known 
to  you ;  the  soundness  of  his  integrity,  and  the  unchangeableness 
of  his  principles,  are  familiar  to  your  apprehension  ;  yet  you  per 
sist  in  this  charge !  You  lead  me  hither  manacled  as  a  felon  ;  you 
deem  me  worthy  of  a  vile  and  tormenting  death ! 

"  Who  are  they  whom  I  have  devoted  to  death  ?  My  wife — the 
little  ones,  that  drew  their  being  from  me  —  that  creature  who,  as 
she  surpassed  them  in  excellence,  claimed  a  larger  affection  than 
those  whom  natural  affinities  bound  to  my  heart.  Think  ye  that 
malice  could  have  urged  me  to  do  this  deed  ?  Hide  your  audacious 
fronts  from  the  scrutiny  of  heaven.  Take  refuge  in  some  cavern 


168         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

unvisited  by  human  eyes.  Ye  may  deplore  your  wickedness  or 
folly,  but  ye  cannot  expiate  it. 

11  Think  not  that  I  speak  for  your  sakes.  Hug  to  your  hearts 
this  detestable  infatuation.  Deem  me  still  a  murderer,  and  drag 
me  to  untimely  death.  I  make  not  an  effort  to  dispel  your  illusion  ; 
I  utter  not  a  word  to  cure  you  of  your  sanguinary  folly ;  but  there 
are  probably  some  in  this  assembly  who  have  come  from  far ;  for 
their  sakes,  whose  distance  has  disabled  them  from  knowing  me, 
I  will  tell  what  I  have  done  and  why. 

"It  is  needless  to  say  that  God  is  the  object  of  my  supreme 
passion.  I  have  cherished  in  his  presence  a  single  and  upright 
heart.  I  have  thirsted  for  the  knowledge  of  his  will.  I  have  burnt 
with  ardor  to  approve  my  faith  and  my  obedience. 

11  My  days  have  been  spent  in  searching  for  the  revelation  of  that 
will ;  but  my  days  have  been  mournful,  because  my  search  failed. 
I  solicited  direction  ;  I  turned  on  every  side  where  glimmerings 
of  light  could  be  discovered.  I  have  not  been  wholly  uninformed  ; 
but  my  knowledge  has  always  stopped  short  of  certainty.  Dissat 
isfaction  has  insinuated  itself  into  all  of  my  thoughts.  My  pur 
poses  have  been  pure,  my  wishes  indefatigable;  but  not  till  lately 
were  those  purposes  thoroughly  accomplished  and  these  wishes 
fully  gratified. 

"  I  thank  thee,  my  Father,  for  thy  bounty ;  that  thou  didst  not 
ask  a  less  sacrifice  than  this ;  that  thou  placedst  me  in  a  condition 
to  testify  my  submission  to  thy  will !  What  have  I  withheld  which 
it  was  thy  pleasure  to  exact  ?  Now  may  I,  with  dauntless  eye,  claim 
my  reward,  since  I  have  given  thee  the  treasure  of  my  soul. 

"  I  was  at  my  own  house  ;  it  was  late  in  the  evening ;  my  sister 
had  gone  to  the  city,  but  proposed  to  return.  It  was  in  expectation 
of  her  return  that  my  wife  and  I  delayed  going  to  bed  beyond  the 
usual  hour ;  the  rest  of  the  family,  however,  were  retired. 

"  My  mind  was  contemplative  and  calm,  —  not  wholly  devoid  of 
apprehension  on  account  of  my  sister's  safety.  Recent  events,  not 
easily  explained,  had  suggested  the  existence  of  some  danger ;  but 
this  danger  was  without  a  distinct  form  in  our  imagination,  and 
scarcely  ruffled  our  tranquillity. 

"  Time  passed,  and  my  sister  did  not  arrive.    Her  house  is  at 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  169 

some  distance  from  mine,  and,  though  her  arrangements  had  been 
made  with  a  view  to  residing  with  us,  it  was  possible  that,  through 
forgetfulness,  or  the  occurrence  of  unforeseen  emergencies,  she 
had  returned  to  her  own  dwelling. 

"  Hence  it  was  conceived  proper  that  I  should  ascertain  the 
truth  by  going  thither.  I  went.  On  my  way  my  mind  was  full  of 
those  ideas  which  related  to  my  intellectual  condition.  In  the  tor 
rent  of  fervid  conceptions,  I  lost  sight  of  my  purpose.  Sometimes, 
I  stood  still ;  sometimes  I  wandered  from  my  path,  and  experienced 
some  difficulty,  on  recovering  from  my  fit  of  musing,  to  regain  it. 

"  The  series  of  my  thoughts  is  easily  traced.  At  first  every  vein 
beat  with  raptures  known  only  to  the  man  whose  parental  and  con 
jugal  love  is  without  limits,  and  the  cup  of  whose  desires,  immense 
as  it  is,  overflows  with  gratification.  I  know  not  why  emotions 
that  were  perpetual  visitants  should  now  have  recurred  with  un 
usual  energy.  The  transition  was  not  new  from  sensations  of  joy 
to  a  consciousness  of  gratitude.  The  Author  of  my  being  was  em 
bellished.  The  service  to  which  a  benefactor  like  this  was  entitled 
could  not  be  circumscribed.  My  social  sentiments  were  indebted 
to  their  alliance  with  devotion  for  all  their  value.  All  passions  are 
base,  all  joys  feeble,  all  energies  malignant,  which  are  not  drawn 
from  this  source. 

"  For  a  time  my  contemplations  soared  above  earth  and  its  in 
habitants.  I  stretched  forth  my  hands  ;  I  lifted  my  eyes,  and  ex 
claimed,  '  Oh  that  I  might  be  admitted  to  thy  presence !  that  mine 
were  the  supreme  delight  of  knowing  thy  will,  and  of  performing 
it !  —  the  blissful  privilege  of  direct  communication  with  thee,  and 
of  listening  to  the  audible  enunciation  of  thy  pleasure ! 

'  What  task  would  I  not  undertake,  what  privation  would  I  not 
cheerfully  endure,  to  testify  my  love  of  thee  ?  Alas !  thou  hidest 
thyself  from  my  view  ;  glimpses  only  of  thy  excellence  and  beauty 
are  afforded  me.  Would  that  a  momentary  emanation  from  thy 
glory  would  visit  me  !  that  some  unambiguous  token  of  thy  presence 
would  salute  my  senses  ! ' 

"  In  this  mood  I  entered  the  house  of  my  sister.  It  was  vacant. 
Scarcely  had  I  regained  recollection  of  the  purpose  that  brought 
me  hither.  Thoughts  of  a  different  tendency  had  such  absolute 


I/O        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

possession  of  my  mind,  that  the  relations  of  time  and  space  were 
almost  obliterated  from  my  understanding.  These  wanderings, 
however,  were  restrained,  and  I  ascended  to  her  chamber. 

"  I  had  no  light,  and  might  have  known  by  external  observation 
that  the  house  was  without  any  inhabitant.  With  this,  however,  I 
was  not  satisfied.  I  entered  the  room,  and,  the  object  of  my  search 
not  appearing,  I  prepared  to  return. 

' '  The  darkness  required  some  caution  in  descending  the  stair. 
I  stretched  my  hand  to  seize  the  balustrade  by  which  I  might 
regulate  my  steps.  How  shall  I  describe  the  lustre  which  at  that 
moment  burst  upon  my  vision  ? 

"  I  was  dazzled.  My  organs  were  bereaved  of  their  activity. 
My  eyelids  were  half  closed,  and  my  hands  withdrawn  from  the 
balustrade.  A  nameless  fear  chilled  my  veins,  and  I  stood  motion 
less.  This  irradiation  did  not  retire  or  lessen.  It  seemed  as  if 
some  powerful  effulgence  covered  me  like  a  mantle. 

"  I  opened  my  eyes  and  found  all  about  me  luminous  and  glow 
ing.  It  was  the  element  of  heaven  that  flowed  around.  Nothing 
but  a  fiery  stream  was  at  first  visible ;  but,  anon,  a  shrill  voice 
from  behind  called  upon  me  to  attend. 

"  I  turned.  It  is  forbidden  to  describe  what  I  saw ;  words,  in 
deed,  would  be  wanting  to  the  task.  The  lineaments  of  that  being 
whose  veil  was  now  lifted  and  whose  visage  beamed  upon  my 
sight,  no  hues  of  pencil  or  of  language  can  portray. 

"As  it  spoke,  the  accents  thrilled  to  my  heart :  —  *  Thy  prayers 
are  heard.  In  proof  of  thy  faith,  render  me  thy  wife.  This  is  the 
victim  I  choose.  Call  her  hither  and  here  let  her  fall.'  The  sound, 
and  visage,  and  light  vanished  at  once. 

"  What  demand  was  this  ?  The  blood  of  Catherine  was  to  be 
shed  !  My  wife  was  to  perish  by  my  hand  !  I  sought  opportunity 
to  attest  my  virtue.  Little  did  I  expect  that  a  proof  like  this  would 
have  been  demanded. 

'  My  wife  !  '  I  exclaimed  ;  *  O  God  !  substitute  some  other 
victim.  Make  me  not  the  butcher  of  my  wife.  My  own  blood  is 
cheap.  This  will  I  pour  out  before  thee  with  a  willing  heart ;  but 
spare,  I  beseech  thee,  this  precious  life,  or  commission  some  other 
than  her  husband  to  perform  the  bloody  deed.' 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  I /I 

"  In  vain.  The  conditions  were  prescribed ;  the  decree  had 
gone  forth,  and  nothing  remained  but  to  execute  it.  I  rushed  out 
of  the  house  and  across  the  intermediate  fields,  and  stopped  not 
till  I  entered  my  own  parlor. 

"  My  wife  had  remained  here  during  my  absence,  in  anxious 
expectation  of  my  return  with  some  tidings  of  her  sister.  I  had 
none  to  communicate.  For  a  time  I  was  breathless  with  my  speed. 
This,  and  the  tremors  that  shook  my  frame,  and  the  wildness  of 
my  looks,  alarmed  her.  She  immediately  suspected  some  disaster 
to  have  happened  to  her  friend,  and  her  own  speech  was  as  much 
overpowered  by  emotion  as  mine. 

"  She  was  silent,  but  her  looks  manifested  her  impatience  to 
hear  what  I  had  to  communicate.  I  spoke,  but  with  so  much  pre 
cipitation  as  scarcely  to  be  understood ;  catching  her,  at  the  same 
time,  by  the  arm,  and  forcibly  pulling  her  from  her  seat. 

1 '  Come  along  with  me  ;  fly ;  waste  not  a  moment ;  time  will 
be  lost,  and  the  deed  will  be  omitted.  Tarry  not ;  question  not ; 
but  fly  with  me  !  ' 

"  This  deportment  added  fresh  to  her  alarms.  Her  eyes  pursued 
mine,  and  she  said,  *  What  is  the  matter  ?  For  God's  sake,  what 
is  the  matter  ?  Where  would  you  have  me  go  ? ' 

"  My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  countenance  while  she  spoke. 
I  thought  upon  her  virtues,  I  viewed  her  as  the  mother  of  my 
babes  ;  as  my  wife.  I  recalled  the  purpose  for  which  I  thus  urged 
her  attendance.  My  heart  faltered,  and  I  saw  that  I  must  rouse 
to  this  work  all  my  faculties.  The  danger  of  the  least  delay  was 
imminent. 

"  I  looked  away  from  her,  and  again  exerting  my  force,  drew  her 
towards  the  door  :  —  '  You  must  go  with  me  ;  indeed  you  must.' 

"  In  her  fright  she  half  resisted  my  efforts,  and  again  exclaimed, 
'  Good  heaven  !  what  is  it  you  mean  ?  Where  go  ?  What  has  hap 
pened  ?  Have  you  found  Clara  ? ' 

( '  Follow  me,  and  you  will  see,'  I  answered,  still  urging  her 
reluctant  steps  forward. 

*  What  frenzy  has  seized  you  ?    Something  must  needs  have 
happened.    Is  she  sick  ?    Have  you  found  her  ? ' 

Come  and  see.    Follow  me,  and  know  for  yourself.' 


172         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"Still  she  expostulated,  and  besought  me  to  explain  this  mys 
terious  behavior.  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  answer  her,  to  look 
at  her  ;  but  grasping  her  arm,  I  drew  her  after  me.  She  hesitated, 
rather  through  confusion  of  mind  than  from  unwillingness  to  ac 
company  me.  This  confusion  gradually  abated,  and  she  moved 
forward,  but  with  irresolute  footsteps  and  continual  exclamations 
of  wonder  and  terror.  Her  interrogations  of  '  what  was  the  matter  ? ' 
and  '  whither  was  I  going  ? '  were  ceaseless  and  vehement. 

"  It  was  the  scope  of  my  efforts  not  to  think  ;  to  keep  up  a  con 
flict  and  uproar  in  my  mind  in  which  all  order  and  distinctness 
should  be  lost ;  to  escape  from  the  sensations  produced  by  her 
voice.  I  was  therefore  silent.  I  strove  to  abridge  this  interval  by 
my  haste,  and  to  waste  all  my  attentions  in  furious  gesticulations. 
"  In  this  state  of  mind  we  reached  my  sister's  door.  She  looked 
at  the  windows  and  saw  that  all  was  desolate.  '  Why  come  we 
here  ?  There  is  nobody  here.  I  will  not  go  in.' 

"  Still  I  was  dumb  ;  but,  opening  the  door,  I  drew  her  into  the 
entry.  This  was  the  allotted  scene  ;  here  she  was  to  fall.  I  let  go 
her  hand,  and  pressing  my  palms  against  my  forehead,  made  one 
mighty  effort  to  work  up  my  soul  to  the  deed. 

"  In  vain,  it  would  not  be  ;  my  courage  was  appalled,  my  arms 
nerveless.  I  muttered  prayers  that  my  strength  might  be  aided 
from  above.  They  availed  nothing. 

"Horror  diffused  itself  over  me.  This  conviction  of  my  coward 
ice,  my  rebellion,  fastened  upon  me,  and  I  stood  rigid  and  cold  as 
marble.  From  this  state  I  was  somewhat  relieved  by  my  wife's 
voice,  who  renewed  her  supplications  to  be  told  why  we  came  hither 
and  what  was  the  fate  of  my  sister. 

"What  could  I  answer?  My  words  were  broken  and  inarticulate. 
Her  fears  naturally  acquired  force  from  the  observation  of  these 
symptoms ;  but  these  fears  were  misplaced.  The  only  inference 
she  deduced  from  my  conduct  was  that  some  terrible  mishap  had 
befallen  Clara. 

"  She  wrung  her  hands,  and  exclaimed,  in  an  agony,  '  Oh,  tell 
me,  where  is  she?  What  has  become  of  her?  Is  she  sick?  Dead? 
Is  she  in  her  chamber  ?  Oh,  let  me  go  thither  and  know  the 
worst ! ' 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  173 

"  This  proposal  set  my  thoughts  once  more  in  motion.    Perhaps 
what  my  rebellious  heart  refused  to  perform  here,  I  might  obtain 
strength  enough  to  execute  elsewhere. 
1 '  Come,  then,'  said  I  ;   'let  us  go.' 

1  '  I  will,  but  not  in  the  dark.    We  must  first  procure  a  light.' 
1  Fly,  then,  and  procure  it ;  but,  I  charge  you,  linger  not.    I 
will  await  for  your  return.' 

"  While  she  was  gone  I  strode  along  the  entry.  The  fellness  of 
a  gloomy  hurricane  but  faintly  resembled  the  discord  that  reigned 
in  my  mind.  To  omit  this  sacrifice  must  not  be  ;  yet  my  sinews 
had  refused  to  perform  it.  No  alternative  was  offered.  To  rebel 
against  the  mandate  was  impossible  ;  but  obedience  would  render 
me  the  executioner  of  my  wife.  My  will  was  strong  but  my  limbs 
refused  their  office. 

"  She  returned  with  a  light.  I  led  the  way  to  the  chamber  :  she 
looked  round  her ;  she  lifted  the  curtain  of  the  bed  ;  she  saw 
nothing. 

"At  length  she  fixed  inquiring  eyes  upon  me.  The  light  now 
enabled  her  to  discover  in  my  visage  what  darkness  had  hitherto 
concealed.  Her  cares  were  now  transferred  from  my  sister  to  my 
self,  and  she  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  '  Wieland,  you  are  not 
well :  what  ails  you  ?  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ? ' 

"  That  accents  and  looks  so  winning  should  disarm  me  of  my 
resolution,  was  to  be  expected.  My  thoughts  were  thrown  anew 
into  anarchy.  I  spread  my  hand  before  my  eyes  that  I  might  not 
see  her,  and  answered  only  by  groans.  She  took  my  other  hand 
between  hers,  and  pressing  it  to  her  heart,  spoke  with  that  voice 
which'  had  ever  swayed  my  will  and  wafted  away  sorrow. 

'  My  friend  !  my  soul's  friend  !  tell  me  thy  cause  of  grief.   Do 
I  not  merit  to  partake  with  thee  in  thy  cares  ?   Am  I  not  thy  wife  ? ' 

"  This  was  too  much.  I  broke  from  her  embrace,  and  retired 
to  a  corner  of  the  room.  In  this  pause,  courage  was  once  more 
infused  into  me.  I  resolved  to  execute  my  duty.  She  followed 
me,  and  renewed  her  passionate  entreaties  to  know  the  cause  of 
my  distress. 

"  I  raised  my  head  and  regarded  her  with  steadfast  looks.  I 
muttered  something  about  death,  and  the  injunctions  of  my  duty. 


174        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

At  these  words  she  shrunk  back,  and  looked  at  me  with  a  new 
expression  of  anguish.  After  a  pause,  she  clasped  her  hands,  and 
exclaimed,  — 

"  '  Oh,  Wieland !  Wieland  !  God  grant  that  I  am  mistaken ! 
but  something  surely  is  wrong.  I  see  it ;  it  is  too  plain  ;  thou  art 
undone,  lost  to  me  and  to  thyself ! '  At  the  same  time  she  gazed  on 
my  features  with  intensest  anxiety,  in  hope  that  different  symptoms 
would  take  place.  I  replied  to  her  with  vehemence,  — 

"  '  Undone  !  No  ;  my  duty  is  known,  and  I  thank  my  God  that 
my  cowardice  is  now  vanquished,  and  I  have  power  to  fulfill  it. 
Catherine,  I  pity  the  weakness  of  thy  nature  ;  I  pity  thee,  but  must 
not  spare.  Thy  life  is  claimed  from  my  hands  ;  thou  must  die  ! ' 

"  Fear  was  now  added  to  her  grief.  '  What  mean  you  ?  Why 
talk  you  of  death  ?  Bethink  yourself,  Wieland  ;  bethink  yourself, 
and  this  fit  will  pass.  Oh,  why  came  I  hither  ?  Why  did  you 
drag  me  hither  ? ' 

1  *  I  brought  thee  hither  to  fulfill  a  divine  command.  I  am 
appointed  thy  destroyer,  and  destroy  thee  I  must.'  Saying  this, 
I  seized  her  wrists.  She  shrieked  aloud,  and  endeavored  to  free 
herself  from  my  grasp  ;  but  her  efforts  were  vain. 

1 '  Surely,  surely,  Wieland,  thou  dost  not  mean  it.  Am  I  not 
thy  wife  ?  and  would 'st  thou  kill  me  ?  Thou  wilt  not ;  and  yet  — 
I  see  —  thou  art  Wieland  no  longer  !  A  fury  resistless  and  horri 
ble  possesses  thee  :  —  spare  me  —  spare  —  help  —  help  —  ' 

"Till  her  breath  was  stopped  she  shrieked  for  help,  —  for 
mercy.  When  she  could  speak  no  longer,  her  gestures,  her  looks 
appealed  to  my  compassion.  My  accursed  hand  was  irresolute  and 
tremulous.  I  meant  thy  death  to  be  sudden,  thy  struggles1  to  be 
brief.  Alas  !  my  heart  was  infirm,  my  resolves  mutable.  Thrice 
I  slacked  my  grasp,  and  life  kept  its  hold,  though  in  the  midst 
of  pangs.  Her  eyeballs  started  from  their  sockets.  Grimness  and 
distortion  took  place  of  all  that  used  to  bewitch  me  into  transport 
and  subdue  me  into  reverence. 

: '  I  was  commissioned  to  kill  thee,  but  not  to  torment  thee  with 
the  foresight  of  thy  death ;  not  to  multiply  thy  fears  and  prolong 
thy  agonies.  Haggard,  and  pale,  and  lifeless,  at  length  thou 
ceased 'st  to  contend  with  thy  destiny.' 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIOD  1 75 

*  This  was  a  moment  of  triumph.  Thus  had  I  successfully  sub 
dued  the  stubbornness  of  human  passions  :  the  victim  which  had 
been  demanded  was  given ;  the  deed  was  done  past  recall. 

"  I  lifted  the  corpse  in  my  arms  and  laid  it  on  the  bed.  I  gazed 
upon  it  with  delight.  Such  was  the  elation  of  my  thoughts,  that 
I  even  broke  into  laughter.  I  clapped  my  hands  and  exclaimed, 
1  It  is  done !  My  sacred  duty  is  fulfilled !  To  that  I  have  sacrificed, 

0  my  God  !  thy  last  and  best  gift,  my  wife  ! ' 

"  For  a  while  I  thus  soared  against  frailty.  I  imagined  I  had 
set  myself  forever  beyond  the  reach  of  selfishness ;  but  my  im 
aginations  were  false.  This  rapture  quickly  subsided.  I  looked 
again  at  my  wife.  My  joyous  ebullitions  vanished,  and  I  asked 
myself  who  it  was  whom  I  saw.  Methought  it  could  not  be 
Catherine.  It  could  not  be  the  woman  who  had  lodged  for  years 
in  my  heart ;  whom  I  had  watched  with  delight,  and  cherished 
with  a  fondness  ever  new  and  perpetually  growing ;  it  could  not 
be  the  same.  Where  was  her  bloom  ?  These  deadly  and  blood- 
suffused  orbs  but  ill  resemble  the  azure  and  ecstatic  tenderness 
of  her  eyes.  The  lucid  stream  that  meandered  over  that  bosom, 
the  glow  of  love  that  was  wont  to  sit  upon  that  cheek,  are  much 
unlike  these  livid  stains  and  this  hideous  deformity.  Alas !  these 
were  the  traces  of  agony ;  the  gripe  of  the  assassin  had  been 
there ! 

"  I  will  not  dwell  upon  my  lapse  into  desperate  and  outrageous 
sorrow.  The  breath  of  heaven  that  sustained  me  was  withdrawn, 
and  I  sunk  into  mere  man.  I  leaped  from  the  floor ;  I  dashed 
my  head  against  the  wall ;  I  uttered  screams  of  horror ;  I  panted 
after  torment  and  pain.  Eternal  fire,  and  the  bickerings  of  hell, 
compared  with  what  I  felt,  were  music  and  a  bed  of  roses. 

"  I  thank  my  God  that  this  degeneracy  was  transient,  — that  he 
deigned  once  more  to  raise  me  aloft.  I  thought  upon  what  I  had 
done  as  a  sacrifice  to  duty,  and  was  calm.  My  wife  was  dead ;  but 

1  reflected  that  though  this  source  of  human  consolation  was  closed, 
yet  others  were  still  open.    If  the  transports  of  a  husband  were  no 
more,  the  feelings  of  a  father  had  still  scope  for  exercise.    When 
remembrance  of  their  mother  should  excite  too  keen  a  pang,  I 
would  look  upon  them  and  be  comforted. 


1 76         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  While  I  resolved  these  ideas,  new  warmth  flowed  in  upon  my 
heart  —  I  was  wrong.  These  feelings  were  the  growth  of  selfish 
ness.  Of  this  I  was  not  aware,  and,  to  dispel  the  mist  that  ob 
scured  my  perceptions,  a  new  effulgence,  and  a  new  mandate 
were  necessary. 

"  From  these  thoughts  I  was  recalled  by  a  ray  that  was  shot 
into  the  room.  A  voice  spake  like  that  which  I  had  before  heard : 

'Thou  hast  done  well.  But  all  is  not  done  —  the  sacrifice  is 
incomplete  —  thy  children  must  be  offered  —  they  must  perish 
with  their  mother  !  —  '" 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD 


JOSEPH   RODMAN  DRAKE 

[Born  at  New  York  City,  August  7,  1795  ;  died  at  New  York  City¥ 
September  21,  1820] 

THE  FAY'S  SENTENCE 
FROM  "THE  CULPRIT  FAY" 

The  monarch  sat  on  his  judgment-seat, 

On  his  brow  the  crown  imperial  shone, 
The  prisoner  Fay  was  at  his  feet, 

And  his  peers  were  ranged  around  the  throne 
He  waved  his  sceptre  in  the  air ; 

He  looked  around  and  calmly  spoke  ; 
His  brow  was  grave  and  his  eye  severe, 

But  his  voice  in  a  softened  accent  broke : 

"  Fairy  !   Fairy  !  list  and  mark, 

Thou  hast  broken  thine  elfin  chain, 
Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark, 

And  thy  wings  are  dyed  with  a  deadly  stain  — 
Thou  hast  sullied  thine  elfin  purity       .   . 
In  the  glance  of  a  mortal  maiden's  eye, 
Thou  hast  scorned  our  dread  decree, 
And  thou  shouldst  pay  the  forfeit  high, 
But  well  I  know  her  sinless  mind 
Is  pure  as  the  angel  forms  above,  . 

Gentle  and  meek  and  chaste  and  kind, 
Such  as  a  spirit  well  might  love  ;  ".';* 

Fairy  !  had  she  spot  or  taint, 
Bitter  had  been  thy  punishment. 
177 


READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Tied  to  the  hornet's  shardy  wings ; 

Tossed  on  the  pricks  of  nettle's  stings ; 

Or  seven  long  ages  doomed  to  dwell 

With  the  lazy  worm  in  the  walnut-shell ; 

Or  every  night  to  writhe  and  bleed 

Beneath  the  tread  of  the  centipede  ; 

Or  bound  in  a  cobweb  dungeon  dim, 

Your  jailor  a  spider  huge  and  grim, 

Amid  the  carrion  bodies  to  lie, 

Of  the  worm,  and  the  bug,  and  the  murdered  fly ; 

These  it  had  been  your  lot  to  bear, 

Had  a  stain  been  found  on  the  earthly  fair. 

Now  list,  and  mark  our  mild  decree  — 

Fairy,  this  your  doom  must  be  : 

"  Thou  shalt  seek  the  beach  of  sand 

Where  the  water  bounds  the  elfin  land, 

Thou  shalt  watch  the  oozy  brine 

Till  the  sturgeon  leaps  in  the  bright  moonshine. 

Then  dart  the  glistening  arch  below, 

And  catch  a  drop  from  his  silver  bow. 

And  dash  around,  with  roar  and  rave, 
And  vain  are  the  woodland  spirits'  charms, 

They  are  the  imps  that  rule  the  wave. 
Yet  trust  thee  in  thy  single  might,  — 
If  thy  heart  be  pure  and  thy  spirit  right, 
Thou  shalt  win  the  warlock  fight. 

"  If  the  spray-bead  gem  be  won, 

The  stain  of  thy  wing  is  washed  away, 

But  another  errand  must  be  done 
Ere  the  crime  be  lost  for  aye  ; 

Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark, 

Thou  must  re-illumine  its  spark. 

Mount  thy  steed  and  spur  him  high 

To  the  heaven's  blue  canopy ; 

And  when  thou  seest  a  shooting  star, 

Follow  it  fast,  and  follow  it  far  — 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  179 

The  last  faint  spark  of  its  burning  train 
Shall  light  the  elfin  lamp  again. 
Thou  hast  heard  our  sentence,  Fay ; 
Hence  !  to  the  water-side,  away !  " 


THE  SECOND  QUEST 

Up,  Fairy  !  quit  thy  chickweed  bower, 
The  cricket  has  called  the  second  hour, 
Twice  again,  and  the  lark  will  rise 
To  kiss  the  streaking  of  the  skies  — 
Up  !  thy  charmed  armor  don, 
Thou  'It  need  it  ere  the  night  be  gone. 

He  put  his  acorn  helmet  on ; 

It  was  plumed  of  the  silk  of  the  thistle-down  ; 

The  corselet  plate  that  guarded  his  breast 

Was  once  the  wild  bee's  golden  vest ; 

His  cloak,  of  a  thousand  mingled  dyes, 

Was  formed  of  the  wings  of  butterflies  ; 

His  shield  was  the  shell  of  a  lady-bug  queen, 

Studs  of  gold  on  a  ground  of  green ; 

And  the  quivering  lance  which  he  brandished  bright, 

Was  the  sting  of  a  wasp  he  had  slain  in  fight. 

Swift  he  bestrode  his  fire-fly  steed  ; 

He  bared  his  blade  of  the  bent- grass  blue ; 
He  drove  his  spurs  of  the  cockle-seed, 

And  away  like  a  glance  of  thought  he  flew, 
To  skim  the  heavens  and  follow  far 
The  fiery  trail  of  the  rocket-star. 

The  moth-fly,  as  he  shot  in  air, 

Crept  under  the  leaf,  and  hid  her  there ; 

The  katy-did  forgot  its  lay, 

The  prowling  gnat  fled  fast  away, 

The  fell  mosquito  checked  his  drone, 

And  folded  his  wings  till  the  Fay  was  gone, 


1 8o        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  the  wily  beetle  dropped  his  head, 
And  fell  on  the  ground  as  if  he  were  dead ; 
They  crouched  them  close  in  the  darksome  shade, 

They  quaked  all  o'er  with  awe  and  fear, 
For  they  had  felt  the  blue-bent  blade, 

And  writhed  at  the  prick  of  the  elfin  spear ; 
Many  a  time,  on  a  summer's  night, 
When  the  sky  was  clear  and  the  moon  was  bright, 
They  had  been  roused  from  the  haunted  ground 
By  the  yelp  and  bay  of  the  fairy  hound ; 
They  had  heard  the  tiny  bugle-horn, 
They  had  heard  the  twang  of  the  maize-silk  string, 
When  the  vine-twig  bows  were  tightly  drawn, 
And  the  nettle-shaft  through  air  was  borne, 
Feathered  with  down  of  the  humbird's  wing. 
And  now  they  deemed  the  courier  ouphe, 

Some  hunter-sprite  of  the  elfin  ground  ; 
And  they  watched  till  they  saw  him  mount  the  roof 

That  canopies  the  world  around  ; 
Then  glad  they  left  their  covert  lair, 
And  freaked  about  in  the  midnight  air. 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 

And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white 

With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 

She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 


EARLY   NATIONAL  PERIOD  181 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven, 
Child  of  the  sun  !  to  thee  't  is  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

The  harbingers  of  victory  ! 

Flag  of  the  brave  !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on, 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 
Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
To  where  the  sky-born  glories  burn, 
And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall, 

Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas  !    On  ocean  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave  ; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 


1 82        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  frightened  waves  rush  wildly  back 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given  ; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ? 


FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK 

[Born  at  Guilford,  Connecticut,  July  8,  1 790 ;  died  at  Guilford,  Connecticut, 
November  19,  1867] 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE 

Green  be  the  turf  above  thee, 

Friend  of  my  better  days ! 
None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee, 

Nor  named  thee  but  to  praise. 

Tears  fell  when  thou  wert  dying, 

From  eyes  unused  to  weep, 
And  long,  where  thou  art  lying, 

Will  tears  the  cold  turf  steep. 

When  hearts,  whose  truth  was  proven, 

Like  thine,  are  laid  in  earth, 
There  should  a  wreath  be  woven 

To  tell  the  world  their  worth ; 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  183 

And  I  who  woke  each  morrow 

To  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine, 
Who  shared  thy  joy  and  sorrow, 

Whose  weal  and  woe  were  thine ; 

It  should  be  mine  to  braid  it 

Around  thy  faded  brow, 
But  I  've  in  vain  essayed  it, 

And  feel  I  cannot  now. 

While  memory  bids  me  weep  thee, 
Nor  thoughts  nor  words  are  free,  — 

The  grief  is  fixed  too  deeply 
That  mourns  a  man  like  thee. 


MARCO  BOZZARIS 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power : 
In  dreams,  through  camp  and  court,  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror ; 

In  dreams  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet  ring : 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne  —  a  king ; 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing, 

As  Eden's  garden  bird. 

At  midnight,  in  the  forest  shades, 
Bozzaris  ranged  his  Suliote  band, 

True  as  the  steel  of  their  tried  blades, 
.  Heroes  in  heart  and  hand. 

There  had  the  Persian's  thousands  stood, 

There  had  the  glad  earth  drunk  their  blood 
On  old  Plataea's  day  ; 

And  now  there  breathed  that  haunted  air 


1 84        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  sons  of  sires  who  conquered  there, 
With  arm  to  strike  and  soul  to  dare, 

As  quick,  as  far  as  they. 
An  hour  passed  on  —  the  Turk  awoke ; 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last ; 
He  woke  —  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek, 

"  To  arms  !  they  come  !  the  Greek  !  the  Greek  !  " 
He  woke  —  to  die  midst  flame,  and  smoke, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke, 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain-cloud  ; 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band  : 
"  Strike  —  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires  ; 
Strike  —  for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ; 
Strike  —  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires ; 

God  —  and  your  native  land  !  " 

They  fought  —  like  brave  men,  long  and  well ; 

They  piled  that  ground  with  Moslem  slain, 
They  conquered  —  but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile  when  rang  their  proud  hurrah. 

And  the  red  field  was  won  ; 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

Come  to  the  bridal-chamber,  Death  ! 

Come  to  the  mother's,  when  she  feels, 
For  the  first  time,  her  first-born's  breath  ; 

Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke, 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 
Come  in  consumption's  ghastly  form, 
The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm ; 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  185 

Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm 
With  banquet-song  and  dance,  and  wine ; 

And  thou  art  terrible  —  the  tear, 

The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 

And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 
Of  agony,  are  thine. 

But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

Has  won  the  battle  for  the  free, 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word ; 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Come,  when  his  task  of  fame  is  wrought  — 
Come,  with  her  laurel-leaf,  blood-bought  — 

Come  in  her  crowning  hour  —  and  then 
Thy  sunken  eye's  unearthly  light 
To  him  is  welcome  as  the  sight 

Of  sky  and  stars  to  prisoned  men ; 
Thy  grasp  is  welcome  as  the  hand 
Of  brother  in  a  foreign  land  ; 
Thy  summons  welcome  as  the  cry 
That  told  the  Indian  isles  were  nigh 

To  the  world-seeking  Genoese, 
When  the  land  wind,  from  woods  of  palm, 
And  orange-groves,  and  fields  of  balm, 

Blew  o'er  the  Haytian  seas. 

Bozzaris  !  with  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee  —  there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 
She  wore  no  funeral-weeds  for  thee, 

Nor  bade  the  dark  hearse  wave  its  plume 
Like  torn  branch  from  death's  leafless  tree 
In  sorrow's  pomp  and  pageantry, 

The  heartless  luxury  of  the  tomb ; 
But  she  remembers  thee  as  one 


1 86        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Long  loved  and  for  a  season  gone  ; 
For  thee  her  poet's  lyre  is  wreathed, 
Her  marble  wrought,  her  music  breathed  ; 
For  thee  she  rings  the  birthday  bells ; 
Of  thee  her  babe's  first  lisping  tells ; 
For  thine  her  evening  prayer  is  said 
At  palace-couch  and  cottage-bed  ; 
Her  soldier,  closing  with  the  foe, 
Gives  for  thy  sake  a  deadlier  blow ; 
His  plighted  maiden,  when  she  fears 
For  him  the  joy  of  her  young  years, 
Thinks  of  thy  fate,  and  checks  her  tears ; 

And  she,  the  mother  of  thy  boys, 
Though  in  her  eye  and  faded  cheek 
Is  read  the  grief  she  will  not  speak, 

The  memory  of  her  buried  joys, 
And  even  she  who  gave  thee  birth 
Will,  by  their  pilgrim-circled  hearth, 

Talk  of  thy  doom  without  a  sigh ; 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's  : 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 

That  were  not  born  to  die. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING 

[Born  at  New  York  City,  April  3,  1 783  ;  died  at  "  Sunnyside,"  near  Tarrytown, 
New  York,  November  28,  1859] 

GOVERNOR  WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER 
FROM  "A  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK  BY  DIEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER" 

It  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1629  that  Mynheer  Wouter  Van 
Twiller  was  appointed  governor  of  the  province  of  Nieuw  Nether 
lands,  under  the  commission  and  control  of  their  High  Mighti 
nesses  the  Lords  States  General  of  the  United  Netherlands,  and 
privileged  West  India  Company. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  187 

This  renowned  old  gentleman  arrived  at  New  Amsterdam  in 
the  merry  month  of  June,  the  sweetest  month  in  all  the  year; 
when  Dan  Apollo  seems  to  dance  up  the  transparent  firmament, 
—  when  the  robin,  the  thrush,  and  a  thousand  other  wanton  song 
sters,  make  the  woods  to  resound  with  amorous  ditties,  and  the 
luxurious  little  boblincon  revels  among  the  clover  blossoms  of 
the  meadows,  —  all  which  happy  coincidence  persuaded  the  old 
dames  of  New  Amsterdam,  who  were  skilled  in  the  art  of  fore 
telling  events,  that  this  was  to  be  a  happy  and  prosperous 
administration. 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twiller  was  descended 
from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgomasters,  who  had  successively 
dozed  away  their  lives,  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  magis 
tracy  in  Rotterdam ;  and  who  had  comported  themselves  with 
such  singular  wisdom  and  propriety,  that  they  were  never  either 
heard  or  talked  of  —  which,  next  to  being  universally  applauded, 
should  be  the  object  of  ambition  of  all  magistrates  and  rulers. 
There  are  two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men  make  a  figure  in 
the  world :  one,  by  talking  faster  than  they  think,  and  the  other, 
by  holding  their  tongues  and  not  thinking  at  all.  By  the  first, 
many  a  smatterer  acquires  the  reputation  of  a  man  of  quick  parts  ; 
by  the  other,  many  a  dunderpate,  like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of 
birds,  comes  to  be  considered  the  very  type  of  wisdom.  This,  by 
the  way,  is  a  casual  remark,  which  I  would  not  for  the  universe, 
have  it  thought  that  I  apply  to  Governor  Van  Twiller.  It  is  true 
he  was  a  man  shut  up  within  himself,  like  an  oyster,  and  rarely 
spoke,  except  in  monosyllables  ;  but  then  it  was  allowed  he  sel 
dom  said  a  foolish  thing.  So  invincible  was  his  gravity  that  he 
was  never  known  to  laugh,  or  even  to  smile,  through  the  whole 
course  of  a  long  and  prosperous  life.  Nay,  if  a  joke  were  uttered 
in  his  presence,  that  set  light-minded  hearers  in  a  roar,  it  was 
observed  to  throw  him  into  a  state  of  perplexity.  Sometimes  he 
would  deign  to  inquire  into  the  matter,  and  when,  after  much 
explanation,  the  joke  was  made  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff,  he  would 
continue  to  smoke  his  pipe  in  silence,  and  at  length,  knocking  out 
the  ashes,  would  exclaim,  "Well,  I  see  nothing  in  all  that  to 
laugh  about." 


1 88         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

With  all  his  reflective  habits,  he  never  made  up  his  mind  on  a 
subject.  His  adherents  accounted  for  this  by  the  astonishing  mag 
nitude  of  his  ideas.  He  conceived  every  subject  on  so  grand  a 
scale  that  he  had  not  room  in  his  head  to  turn  it  over  and  examine 
both  sides  of  it.  Certain  it  is,  that  if  any  matter  were  propounded 
to  him  on  which  ordinary  mortals  would  rashly  determine  at  first 
glance,  he  would  put  on  a  vague,  mysterious  look,  shake  his  capa 
cious  head,  smoke  some  time  in  profound  silence,  and  at  length 
observe,  that  "  he  had  his  doubts  about  the  matter  "  ;  which  gained 
him  the  reputation  of  a  man  slow  of  belief  and  not  easily  imposed 
upon.  What  is  more,  it  gained  him  a  lasting  name;  for  to  this 
habit  of  the  mind  has  been  attributed  his  surname  Twiller ;  which 
is  said  to  be  a  corruption  of  the  original  Twijfler,  or,  in  plain 
English,  Doubter. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman  was  formed  and 
proportioned,  as  though  it  had  been  moulded  by  the  hands  of 
some  cunning  Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and  lordly 
grandeur.  He  was  exactly  five  feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  six 
feet  five  inches  in  circumference.  His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere, 
and  of  such  stupendous  dimensions,  that  Dame  Nature,  with  all 
her  sex's  ingenuity,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a  neck 
capable  of  supporting  it ;  wherefore  she  wisely  declined  the 
attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the  top  of  his  backbone,  just 
between  the  shoulders.  His  body  was  oblong  and  particularly 
capacious  at  bottom  ;  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Providence, 
seeing  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary  habits,  and  very  averse 
to  the  idle  labor  of  walking.  His  legs  were  short,  but  sturdy  in 
proportion  to  the  weight  they  had  to  sustain ;  so  that  when  erect 
he  had  not  little  the  appearance  of  a  beer-barrel  on  skids.  His 
face,  that  infallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a  vast  expanse, 
unfurrowed  by  any  of  those  lines  and  angles  which  disfigure 
the  human  countenance  with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two 
small  grey  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in  the  midst,  like  two  stars  of 
lesser  magnitude  in  a  hazy  firmament,  and  his  full  red  cheeks, 
which  seemed  to  have  taken  toll  of  everything  that  went  into 
his  mouth,  were  curiously  mottled  and  streaked  with  dusky  red, 
like  a  Spitzenberg  apple. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  189 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He  daily  took  his 
four  stated  meals,  appropriating  exactly  an  hour  to  each ;  he 
smoked  and  doubted  eight  hours,  and  he  slept  the  remaining 
twelve  of  the  twenty-four.  Such  was  the  renowned  Wouter  Van 
Twilier,  —  a  true  philosopher,  for  his  mind  was  either  elevated 
above,  or  tranquilly  settled  below,  the  cares  and  perplexities  of 
this  world.  He  had  lived  in  it  for  years,  without  feeling  the  least 
curiosity  to  know  whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it  round 
the  sun  ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least  half  a  century,  the 
smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to  the  ceiling,  without  once  troubling 
his  head  with  any  of  those  numerous  theories  by  which  a  philoso 
pher  would  have  perplexed  his  brain,  in  accounting  for  its  rising 
above  the  surrounding  atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state  and  solemnity.  He 
sat  in  a  huge  chair  of  solid  oak,  hewn  in  the  celebrated  forest  of 
the  Hague,  fabricated  by  an  experienced  timberman  of  Amsterdam, 
and  curiously  carved  about  the  arms  and  feet,  into  exact  imitations 
of  gigantic  eagle's  claws.  Instead  of  a  sceptre,  he  swayed  a  long 
Turkish  pipe,  wrought  with  jasmin  and  amber,  which  had  been 
presented  to  a  stadtholder  of  Holland  at  the  conclusion  of  a  treaty 
with  one  of  the  petty  Barbary  powers.  In  this  stately  chair  would 
he  sit,  and  this  magnificent  pipe  would  he  smoke,  shaking  his 
right  knee  with  a  constant  motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for  hours 
together  upon  a  little  print  of  Amsterdam,  which  hung  in  a  black 
frame  against  the  opposite  wall  of  the  council-chamber.  Nay,  it  has 
even  been  said,  that  when  any  deliberation  of  extraordinary  length 
and  intricacy  was  on  the  carpet,  the  renowned  Wouter  would  shut 
his  eyes  for  full  two  hours  at  a  time,  that  he  might  not  be  dis 
turbed  by  external  objects  ;  and  at  such  times  the  internal  com 
motion  of  his  mind  was  evinced  by  certain  regular  guttural  sounds, 
which  his  admirers  declared  were  merely  the  noise  of  conflict, 
made  by  his  contending  doubts  and  opinions. 


READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 
THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW 

FOUND  AMONG  THE  PAPERS  OF  THE  LATE  DlEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER 

A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy  head  it  was, 
Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye ; 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
Forever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky. 

Castle  of  Indolence 

In  the  bosom  of  one  of  those  spacious  coves  which  indent  the 
eastern  shore  of  the  Hudson,  at  that  broad  expansion  of  the  river 
denominated  by  the  ancient  Dutch  navigators  the  Tappan  Zee,  and 
where  they  always  prudently  shortened  sail  and  implored  the  pro 
tection  of  St.  Nicholas  when  they  crossed,  there  lies  a  small  market 
town  or  rural  port,  which  by  some  is  called  Greensburgh,  but  which 
is  more  generally  and  properly  known  by  the  name  of  Tarry  Town. 
This  name  was  given,  we  are  told,  in  former  days,  by  the  good  house 
wives  of  the  adjacent  country,  from  the  inveterate  propensity  of  their 
husbands  to  linger  about  the  village  tavern  on  market  days.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  I  do  not  vouch  for  the  fact,  but  merely  advert  to  it,  for 
the  sake  of  being  precise  and  authentic.  Not  far  from  this  village, 
perhaps  about  two  miles,  there  is  a  little  valley  or  rather  lap  of  land 
among  high  hills,  which  is  one  of  the  quietest  places  in  the  whole 
world.  A  small  brook  glides  through  it,  with  just  murmur  enough 
to  lull  one  to  repose ;  and  the  occasional  whistle  of  a  quail  or  tapping 
of  a  woodpecker  is  almost  the  only  sound  that  ever  breaks  in  upon 
the  uniform  tranquillity. 

I  recollect  that,  when  a  stripling,  my  first  exploit  in  squirrel- 
shooting  was  in  a  grove  of  tall  walnut-trees  that  shades  one  side  of 
the  valley.  I  had  wandered  into  it  at  noontime,  when  all  nature  is 
peculiarly  quiet,  and  was  startled  by  the  roar  of  my  own  gun,  as  it 
broke  the  Sabbath  stillness  around  and  was  prolonged  and  rever 
berated  by  the  angry  echoes.  If  ever  I  should  wish  for  a  retreat 
whither  I  might  steal  from  the  world  and  its  distractions,  and  dream 
quietly  away  the  remnant  of  a  troubled  life,  I  know  of  none  more 
promising  than  this  little  valley. 

From  the  listless  repose  of  the  place,  and  the  peculiar  character 
of  its  inhabitants,  who  are  descendants  from  the  original  Dutch 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  191 

settlers,  this  sequestered  glen  has  long  been  known  by  the  name 
of  SLEEPY  HOLLOW,  and  its  rustic  lads  are  called  the  Sleepy  Hollow 
Boys  throughout  all  the  neighboring  country.  A  drowsy,  dreamy 
influence  seems  to  hang  over  the  land,  and  to  pervade  the  very 
atmosphere.  Some  say  that  the  place  was  bewitched  by  a  high 
German  doctor,  during  the  early  days  of  the  settlement ;  others, 
that  an  old  Indian  chief,  the  prophet  or  wizard  of  his  tribe,  held 
his  pow-wows  there  before  the  country  was  discovered  by  Master 
Hendrick  Hudson.  Certain  it  is,  the  place  still  continues  under 
the  sway  of  some  witching  power,  that  holds  a  spell  over  the  minds 
of  the  good  people,  causing  them  to  walk  in  a  continual  reverie. 
They  are  given  to  all  kinds  of  marvellous  beliefs ;  are  subject  to 
trances  and  visions ;  and  frequently  see  strange  sights,  and  hear 
music  and  voices  in  the  air.  The  whole  neighborhood  abounds 
with  local  tales,  haunted  spots,  and  twilight  superstitions  ;  stars 
shoot  and  meteors  glare  oftener  across  the  valley  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  country,  and  the  nightmare,  with  her  whole  nine-fold, 
seems  to  make  it  the  favorite  scene  of  her  gambols. 

The  dominant  spirit,  however,  that  haunts  this  enchanted  region, 
and  seems  to  be  commander-in-chief  of  all  the  powers  of  the  air,  is 
the  apparition  of  a  figure  on  horseback  without  a  head.  It  is  said 
by  some  to  be  the  ghost  of  a  Hessian  trooper,  whose  head  had 
been  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball,  in  some  nameless  battle  during 
the  Revolutionary  War,  and  who  is  ever  and  anon  seen  by  the 
country  folk,  hurrying  along  in  the  gloom  of  night,  as  if  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind.  His  haunts  are  not  confined  to  the  valley,  but 
extend  at  times  to  the  adjacent  roads,  and  especially  to  the  vicinity 
of  a  church  at  no  great  distance.  Indeed,  certain  of  the  most  authen 
tic  historians  of  those  parts,  who  have  been  careful  in  collecting  and 
collating  the  floating  facts  concerning  this  spectre,  allege  that  the 
body  of  the  trooper  having  been  buried  in  the  churchyard,  the  ghost 
rides  forth  to  the  scene  of  battle  in  nightly  quest  of  his  head,  and 
that  the  rushing  speed  with  which  he  sometimes  passes  along  the 
Hollow,  like  a  midnight  blast,  is  owing  to  his  being  belated,  and 
in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  churchyard  before  daybreak. 

Such  is  the  general  purport  of  this  legendary  superstition,  which 
has  furnished  materials  for  many  a  wild  story  in  that  region  of 


192        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

shadows  ;  and  the  spectre  is  known  at  all  the  country  firesides,,  by 
the  name  of  the  Headless  Horseman  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  visionary  propensity  I  have  mentioned 
is  not  confined  to  the  native  inhabitants  of  the  valley,  but  is  uncon 
sciously  imbibed  by  every  one  who  resides  there  for  a  time.  How 
ever  wide  awake  they  may  have  been  before  they  entered  that  sleepy 
region,  they  are  sure,  in  a  little  time,  to  inhale  the  witching  influence 
of  the  air,  and  begin  to  grow  imaginative,  to  dream  dreams,  and 
see  apparitions. 

I  mention  this  peaceful  spot  with  all  possible  laud  ;  for  it  is  in 
such  little  retired  Dutch  valleys,  found  here  and  there  embosomed 
in  the  great  State  of  New  York,  that  population,  manners,  and  cus 
toms  remain  fixed ;  while  the  great  torrent  of  migration  and  improve 
ment,  which  is  making  such  incessant  changes  in  other  parts  of  this 
restless  country,  sweeps  by  them  unobserved.  They  are  like  those 
little  nooks  of  still  water  which  border  a  rapid  stream  ;  where  we 
may  see  the  straw  and  bubble  riding  quietly  at  anchor,  or  slowly 
revolving  in  their  mimic  harbor,  undisturbed  by  the  rush  of  the 
passing  current.  Though  many  years  have  elapsed  since  I  trod  the 
drowsy  shades  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  yet  I  question  whether  I  should 
not  still  find  the  same  trees  and  the  same  families  vegetating  in 
its  sheltered  bosom. 

In  this  by-place  of  nature,  there  abode,  in  a  remote  period  of 
American  history,  that  is  to  say,  some  thirty  years  since,  a  worthy 
wight  of  the  name  of  Ichabod  Crane,  who  sojourned,  or,  as  he  ex 
pressed  it,  "  tarried,"  in  Sleepy  Hollow,  for  the  purpose  of  instruct 
ing  the  children  of  the  vicinity.  He  was  a  native  of  Connecticut, 
a  State  which  supplies  the  Union  with  pioneers  for  the  mind  as 
well  as  for  the  forest,  and  sends  forth  yearly  its  legions  of  frontier 
woodmen  and  country  schoolmasters.  The  cognomen  of  Crane 
was  not  inapplicable  to  his  person.  He  was  tall,  but  exceedingly 
lank,  with  narrow  shoulders,  long  arms  and  legs,  hands  that  dangled 
a  mile  out  of  his  sleeves,  feet  that  might  have  served  for  shovels, 
and  his  whole  frame  most  loosely  hung  together.  His  head  was 
small,  and  flat  at  top,  with  huge  ears,  large  green  glassy  eyes,  and 
a  long  snipe  nose,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  weathercock  perched  upon 
his  spindle  neck,  to  tell  which  way  the  wind  blew.  To  see  him 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  193 

striding  along  the  profile  of  a  hill  on  a  windy  day,  with  his  clothes 
bagging  and  fluttering  about  him,  one  might  have  mistaken  him 
for  the  genius  of  famine  descending  upon  the  earth,  or  some  scare 
crow  eloped  from  a  cornfield. 

His  schoolhouse  was  a  low  building  of  one  large  room,  rudely 
constructed  of  logs  ;  the  windows  partly  glazed,  and  partly  patched 
with  leaves  of  old  copy-books.  It  was  most  ingeniously  secured  at 
vacant  hours,  by  a  withe  twisted  in  the  handle  of  the  door,  and 
stakes  set  against  the  window  shutters ;  so  that  though  a  thief  might 
get  in  with  perfect  ease,  he  would  find  some  embarrassment  in  get 
ting  out,  —  an  idea  most  probably  borrowed  by  the  architect,  Yost 
Van  Houten,  from  the  mystery  of  an  eelpot.  The  schoolhouse  stood 
in  a  rather  lonely  but  pleasant  situation,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  woody 
hill,  with  a  brook  running  close  by,  and  a  formidable  birch-tree  grow 
ing  at  one  end  of  it.  From  hence  the  low  murmur  of  his  pupils' 
voices,  conning  over  their  lessons,  might  be  heard  in  a  drowsy  sum 
mer's  day,  like  the  hum  of  a  beehive ;  interrupted  now  and  then 
by  the  authoritative  voice  of  the  master,  in  the  tone  of  menace  or 
command  ;  or,  peradventure,  by  the  appalling  sound  of  the  birch, 
as  he  urged  some  tardy  loiterer  along  the  flowery  path  of  knowl 
edge.  Truth  to  say,  he  was  a  conscientious  man,  and  ever  bore 
in  mind  the  golden  maxim,  "  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child." 
Ichabod  Crane's  scholars  certainly  were  not  spoiled. 

I  would  not  have  it  imagined,  however,  that  he  was  one  of  those 
cruel  potentates  of  the  school  who  joy  in  the  smart  of  their  sub 
jects;  on  the  contrary,  he  administered  justice  with  discrimination 
rather  than  severity,  taken  the  burthen  off  the  backs  of  the  weak, 
and  laying  it  on  those  of  the  strong.  Your  mere  puny  stripling, 
that  winced  at  the  least  flourish  of  the  rod,  was  passed  by  with 
indulgence  ;  but  the  claims  of  justice  were  satisfied  by  inflicting  a 
double  portion  on  some  little,  tough,  wrong-headed,  broad-skirted 
Dutch  urchin,  who  sulked,  and  swelled,  and  grew  dogged  and 
sullen  beneath  the  birch.  All  this  he  called  " doing  his  duty"  by 
their  parents  ;  and  he  never  inflicted  a  chastisement  without  fol 
lowing  it  by  the  assurance,  so  consolatory  to  the  smarting  urchin, 
that  "he  would  remember  it,  and  thank  him  for  it  the  longest 
day  he  had  to  live." 


194         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

When  school-hours  were  over,  he  was  even  the  companion  and 
playmate  of  the  larger  boys  ;  and,  on  holiday  afternoons,  would  con 
voy  some  of  the  smaller  ones  home,  who  happened  to  have  pretty 
sisters  or  good  housewives  for  mothers  noted  for  the  comforts  of  the 
cupboard.  Indeed,  it  behooved  him  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  his 
pupils.  The  revenue  arising  from  his  school  was  small  and  would 
have  been  scarcely  sufficient  to  furnish  him  with  daily  bread,  for 
he  was  a  huge  feeder,  and,  though  lank,  had  the  dilating  powers 
of  an  anaconda;  but  to  help  out  his  maintenance,  he  was,  according 
to  country  custom  in  those  parts,  boarded  and  lodged  at  the  houses 
of  the  farmers,  whose  children  he  instructed.  With  these  he  lived 
successively  a  week  at  a  time ;  thus  going  the  rounds  of  the  neighbor 
hood,  with  all  his  worldly  effects  tied  up  in  a  cotton  handkerchief. 

That  all  this  might  not  be  too  onerous  on  the  purses  of  his 
rustic  patrons,  who  are  apt  to  consider  the  cost  of  schooling  a 
grievous  burden,  and  schoolmasters  as  mere  drones,  he  had  various 
ways  of  rendering  himself  both  useful  and  agreeable.  He  assisted 
the  farmers  occasionally  in  the  lighter  labors  of  their  farms,  helped 
to  make  hay,  mended  the  fences,  took  the  horses  to  water,  drove 
the  cows  from  pasture,  and  cut  wood  for  the  winter  fire.  He  laid 
aside,  too,  all  the  dominant  dignity  and  absolute  sway  with  which 
he  lorded  it  in  his  little  empire,  the  school,  and  became  wonder 
fully  gentle  and  ingratiating.  He  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the 
mothers  by  petting  the  children,  particularly  the  youngest ;  and 
like  the  lion  bold,  which  whilom  so  magnanimously  the  lamb  did 
hold,  he  would  sit  with  a  child  on  one  knee,  and  rock  a  cradle 
with  his  foot  for  whole  hours  together. 

In  addition  to  his  other  vocations,  he  was  the  singing-master 
of  the  neighborhood,  and  picked  up  many  bright  shillings  by  in 
structing  the  young  folks  in  psalmody.  It  was  a  matter  of  no  little 
vanity  to  him  on  Sundays,  to  take  his  station  in  front  of  the  church 
gallery,  with  a  band  of  chosen  singers ;  where,  in  his  own  mind, 
he  completely  carried  away  the  palm  from  the  parson.  Certain  it 
is,  his  voice  resounded  far  above  all  the  rest  of  the  congregation ; 
and  there  are  peculiar  quavers  still  to  be  heard  in  that  church,  and 
which  may  even  be  heard  half  a  mile  off,  quite  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  mill-pond,  on  a  still  Sunday  morning,  which  are  said  to  be 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  195 

legitimately  descended  from  the  nose  of  Ichabod  Crane.  Thus,. by 
'divers  little  makeshifts  in  that  ingenious  way  which  is  commonly 
denominated  "by  hook  and  by  crook,"  the  worthy  pedagogue  got  on 
tolerably  enough,  and  was  thought,  by  all  who  understood  nothing 
of  the  labor  of  headwork,  to  have  a  wonderfully  easy  life  of  it. 

The  schoolmaster  is  generally  a  man  of  some  importance  in 
the  female  circle  of  a  rural  neighborhood ;  being  considered  a 
kind  of  idle,  gentleman-like  personage,  of  vastly  superior  taste  and 
accomplishments  to  the  rough  country  swains,  and,  indeed,  inferior 
in  learning  only  to  the  parson.  His  appearance,  therefore,  is  apt 
to  occasion  some  little  stir  at  the  tea-table  of  a  farm-house,  and 
the  addition  of  a  supernumerary  dish  of  cakes  or  sweetmeats,  or, 
perad venture,  the  parade  of  a  silver  tea-pot.  Our  man  of  letters, 
therefore,  was  peculiarly  happy  in  the  smiles  of  all  the  country 
damsels.  How  he  would  figure  among  them  in  the  church-yard, 
between  services  on  Sundays  !  gathering  grapes  for  them  from  the 
wild  vines  that  overrun  the  surrounding  trees ;  reciting  for  their 
amusement  all  the  epitaphs  on  the  tombstones  ;  or  sauntering 
with  a  whole  bevy  of  them,  along  the  banks  of  the  adjacent  mill- 
pond  ;  while  the  more  bashful  country  bumpkins  hung  sheepishly 
back,  envying  his  superior  elegance  and  address. 

From  his  half  itinerant  life,  also,  he  was  a  kind  of  travelling 
gazette,  carrying  the  whole  budget  of  local  gossip  from  house 
to  house :  so  that  his  appearance  was  always  greeted  with  satis 
faction.  He  was,  moreover,  esteemed  by  the  women  as  a  man 
of  great  erudition,  for  he  had  read  several  books  quite  through, 
and  was  a  perfect  master  of  Cotton  Mather's  "  History  of  New 
England  Witchcraft,"  in  which,  by  the  way,  he  most  firmly  and 
potently  believed. 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  odd  mixture  of  small  shrewdness  and  simple 
credulity.  His  appetite  for  the  marvellous,  and  his  powers  of  digest 
ing  it,  were  equally  extraordinary  ;  and  both  had  been  increased  by 
his  iesidence  in  this  spell-bound  region.  No  tale  was  too  gross  or 
monstrous  for  his  capacious  swallow.  It  was  often  his  delight,  after 
his  school  was  dismissed  in  the  afternoon,  to  stretch  himself  on 
the  rich  bed  of  clover  bordering  the  little  brook  that  whimpered 
by  his  schoolhouse,  and  there  con  over  old  Mather's  direful  tales, 


196        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

until  the  gathering  dusk  of  evening  made  the  printed  page  a  mere 
mist  before  his  eyes.  Then,  as  he  wended  his  way  by  swamp  and 
stream  and  awful  woodland,  to  the  farmhouse  where  he  happened 
to  be  quartered,  every  sound  of  nature,  at  that  witching  hour,  flut 
tered  his  excited  imagination,  —  the  moan  of  the  whip-poor-will 
from  the  hillside,  the  boding  cry  of  the  tree  toad,  that  harbinger 
of  storm,  the  dreary  hooting  of  the  screech  owl,  to  the  sudden 
rustling  in  the  thicket  of  birds  frightened  from  their  roost.  The 
fireflies,  too,  which  sparkled  most  vividly  in  the  darkest  places, 
now  and  then  startled  him,  as  one  of  uncommon  brightness  would 
stream  across  his  path  ;  and  if,  by  chance,  a  huge  blockhead  of  a 
beetle  came  winging  his  blundering  flight  against  him,  the  poor 
varlet  was  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost,  with  the  idea  that  he  was 
struck  with  a  witch's  token.  His  only  resource  on  such  occasions, 
either  to  drown  thought  or  drive  away  evil  spirits,  was  to  sing 
psalm-tunes  ;  and  the  good  people  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  as  they  sat 
by  their  doors  of  an  evening,  were  often  filled  with  awe,  at  hearing 
his  nasal  melody,  "  in  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out,"  floating 
from  the  distant  hill,  or  along  the  dusky  road. 

Another  of  his  sources  of  fearful  pleasure  was,  to  pass  long 
winter  evenings  with  the  old  Dutch  wives,  as  they  sat  spinning 
by  the  fire,  with  a  row  of  apples  roasting  and  spluttering  along 
the  hearth,  and  listen  to  their  marvellous  tales  of  ghosts  and  gob 
lins,  and  haunted  fields,  and  haunted  brooks,  and  haunted  bridges, 
and  haunted  houses,  and  particularly  of  the  headless  horseman,  or 
Galloping  Hessian  of  the  Hollow,  as  they  sometimes  called  him. 
He  would  delight  them  equally  by  his  anecdotes  of  witchcraft,  and 
of  the  direful  omens  and  portentous  sights  and  sounds  in  the  air, 
which  prevailed  in  the  earlier  times  of  Connecticut;  and  would 
frighten  them  wofully  with  speculations  upon  comets  and  shooting 
stars,  and  with  the  alarming  fact  that  the  world  did  absolutely  turn 
round,  and  that  they  were  half  the  time  topsy-turvy ! 

But  if  there  was  a  pleasure  in  all  this,  while  snugly  cuddling 
in  the  chimney-corner  of  a  chamber  that  was  all  of  a  ruddy  glow 
from  the  crackling  wood-fire,  and  where,  of  course,  no  spectre 
dared  to  show  his  face,  it  was  dearly  purchased  by  the  terrors 
-of  his  subsequent  walk  homewards.  What  fearful  shapes  and 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  197 

shadows  beset  his  path  amidst  the  dim  and  ghastly  glare  of  a 
snowy  night !  With  what  wistful  look  did  he  eye  every  trembling 
ray  of  light  streaming  across  the  waste  fields  from  some  distant 
window !  How  often  was  he  appalled  by  some  shrub  covered  with 
snow,  which,  like  a  sheeted  spectre,  beset  his  very  path  !  How 
often  did  he  shrink  with  curdling  awe  at  the  sound  of  his  own 
steps  on  the  frosty  crust  beneath  his  feet ;  and  dread  to  look  over 
his  shoulder,  lest  he  should  behold  some  uncouth  being  tramping 
close  behind  him  !  and  how  often  was  he  thrown  into  complete 
dismay  by  some  rushing  blast,  howling  among  the  trees,  in  the 
idea  that  it  was  the  Galloping  Hessian  on  one  of  his  nightly 
scourings ! 

All  these,  however,  were  mere  terrors  of  the  night,  phantoms 
of  the  mind  that  walk  in  darkness  ;  and  though  he  had  seen  many 
spectres  in  his  time,  and  been  more  than  once  beset  by  Satan  in 
divers  shapes,  in  his  lonely  perambulations,  yet  daylight  put  an 
end  to  all  these  evils  ;  and  he  would  have  passed  a  pleasant  life 
of  it,  in  despite  of  the  Devil  and  all  his  works,  if  his  path  had 
not  been  crossed  by  a  being  that  causes  more  perplexity  to  mortal 
man  than  ghosts,  goblins,  and  the  whole  race  of  witches  put 
together,  and  that  was  —  a  woman. 

Among  the  musical  disciples  who  assembled,  one  evening  in 
each  week,  to  receive  his  instructions  in  psalmody,  was  Katrina 
Van  Tassel,  the  daughter  and  only  child  of  a  substantial  Dutch 
farmer.  She  was  a  blooming  lass  of  fresh  eighteen  ;  plump  as  a 
partridge  ;  ripe  and  melting  and  rosy-cheeked  as  one  of  her  father's 
peaches,  and  universally  famed,  not  merely  for  her  beauty,  but  her 
vast  expectations.  She  was  withal  a  little  of  a  coquette,  as  might 
be  perceived  even  in  her  dress,  which  was  a  mixture  of  ancient 
and  modern  fashions,  as  most  suited  to  set  off  her  charms.  She 
wore  the  ornaments  of  pure  yellow  gold,  which  her  great-great- 
grandmother  had  brought  over  from  Saardam  ;  the  tempting  stom 
acher  of  the  olden  time ;  and  withal  a  provokingly  short  petticoat, 
to  display  the  prettiest  foot  and  ankle  in  the  country  round. 

Ichabod  Crane  had  a  soft  and  foolish  heart  toward  the  sex ;  and 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  so  tempting  a  morsel  soon  found 
favor  in  his  eyes  ;  more  especially  after  he  had  visited  her  in  her 


198        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

paternal  mansion.  Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  was  a  perfect  picture  of 
a  thriving,  contented,  liberal-hearted  farmer.  He  seldom,  it  is  true, 
sent  either  his  eyes  or  his  thoughts  beyond  the  boundaries  of  his 
own  farm  ;  but  within  those  everything  was  snug,  happy,  and  well- 
conditioned.  He  was  satisfied  with  his  wealth,  but  not  proud  of  it ; 
and  piqued  himself  upon  the  hearty  abundance  rather  than  the  style 
in  which  he  lived.  His  stronghold  was  situated  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson,  in  one  of  those  green,  sheltered,  fertile  nooks  in 
which  the  Dutch  farmers  are  so  fond  of  nestling.  A  great  elm- 
tree  spread  its  broad  branches  over  it ;  at  the  foot  of  which  bubbled 
up  a  spring  of  the  softest  and  sweetest  water,  in  a  little  well  formed 
of  a  barrel ;  and  then  stole  sparkling  away  through  the  grass,  to 
a  neighboring  brook,  that  bubbled  along  among  alders  and  dwarf 
willows.  Hard  by  the  farm-house  was  a  vast  barn,  that  might  have 
served  for  a  church ;  every  window  and  crevice  of  which  seemed 
bursting  forth  with  the  treasures  of  the  farm ;  the  flail  was  busily 
resounding  within  it  from  morning  till  night ;  swallows  and  martins 
skimmed  twittering  about  the  eaves  ;  and  rows  of  pigeons,  some 
with  one  eye  turned  up,  as  if  watching  the  weather,  some  with  their 
heads  under  their  wings,  or  buried  in  their  bosoms,  and  others 
swelling,  and  cooing,  and  bowing  about  their  dames,  were  enjoying 
the  sunshine  on  the  roof.  Sleek  unwieldy  porkers  were  grunting 
in  the  repose  and  abundance  of  their  pens  ;  whence  sallied  forth, 
now  and  then,  troops  of  sucking  pigs,  as  if  to  snuff  the  air.  A 
stately  squadron  of  snowy  geese  were  riding  in  an  adjoining  pond, 
convoying  whole  fleets  of  ducks ;  regiments  of  turkeys  were  gob 
bling  through  the  farm-yard,  and  Guinea  fowls  fretting  about  it, 
like  ill-tempered  housewives,  with  their  peevish,  discontented  cry. 
Before  the  barn  door  strutted  the  gallant  cock,  that  pattern  of  a 
husband,  a  warrior,  and  a  fine  gentleman,  clapping  his  burnished 
wings  and  crowing  in  the  pride  and  gladness  of  his  heart, — some 
times  tearing  up  the  earth  with  his  feet,  and  then  generously  call 
ing  his  ever-hungry  family  of  wives  and  children  to  enjoy  the  rich 
morsel  which  he  had  discovered. 

The  pedagogue's  mouth  watered  as  he  looked  upon  this  sump 
tuous  promise  of  luxurious  winter  fare.  In  his  devouring  mind's 
eye,  he  pictured  to  himself  every  roasting-pig  running  about  with 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  199 

a  pudding  in  his  belly,  and  an  apple  in  his  mouth ;  the  pigeons 
were  snugly  put  to  bed  in  a  comfortable  pie,  and  tucked  in  with 
a  coverlet  of  crust ;  the  geese  were  swimming  in  their  own  gravy ; 
and  the  ducks  pairing  cosily  in  dishes,  like  snug  married  couples, 
with  a  decent  competency  of  onion  sauce.  In  the  porkers  he  saw 
carved  out  the  future  sleek  side  of  bacon,  and  juicy  relishing  ham; 
not  a  turkey  but  he  beheld  daintily  trussed  up,  with  its  gizzard 
under  its  wing,  and,  peradventure,  a  necklace  of  savory  sausages ; 
and  even  bright  chanticleer  himself  lay  sprawling  on  his  back,  in 
a  side  dish,  with  uplifted  claws,  as  if  craving  that  quarter  which 
his  chivalrous  spirit  disdained  to  ask  while  living. 

As  the  enraptured  Ichabod  fancied  all  this,  and  as  he  rolled 
his  great  green  eyes  over  the  fat  meadow-lands,  the  rich  fields  of 
wheat,  of  rye,  of  buckwheat,  and  Indian  corn,  and  the  orchards 
burthened  with  ruddy  fruit,  which  surrounded  the  warm  tenement 
of  Van  Tassel,  his  heart  yearned  after  the  damsel  who  was  to  in 
herit  these  domains,  and  his  imagination  expanded  with  the  idea, 
how  they  might  be  readily  turned  into  cash,  and  the  money  in 
vested  in  immense  tracts  of  wild  land,  and  shingle  palaces  in  the 
wilderness.  Nay,  his  busy  fancy  already  realized  his  hopes,  and 
presented  to  him  the  blooming  Katrina,  with  a  whole  family  of 
children,  mounted  on  the  top  of  a  wagon  loaded  with  household 
trumpery,  with  pots  and  kettles  dangling  beneath ;  and  he  beheld 
himself  bestriding  a  pacing  mare,  with  a  colt  at  her  heels,  setting 
out  for  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  or  the  Lord  knows  where. 

When  he  entered  the  house,  the  conquest  of  his  heart  was  com 
plete.  It  was  one  of  those  spacious  farm-houses,  with  high-ridged, 
but  lowly-sloping  roofs,  built  in  the  style  handed  down  from  the 
first  Dutch  settlers ;  the  low  projecting  eaves  forming  a  piazza 
along  the  front,  capable  of  being  closed,  up  in  bad  weather.  Under 
this  were  hung  flails,  harness,  various  utensils  of  husbandry,  and 
nets  for  fishing  in  the  neighboring  river.  Benches  were  built  along 
the  sides  for  summer  use ;  and  a  great  spinning-wheel  at  one  end, 
and  a  churn  at  the  other,  showed  the  various  uses  to  which  this 
important  porch  might  be  devoted.  From  this  piazza  the  wondering 
Ichabod  entered  the  hall,  which  formed  the  centre  of  the  mansion 
and  the  place  of  usual  residence.  Here,  rows  of  resplendent  pewter, 


200        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ranged  on  a  long  dresser,  dazzled  his  eyes.  In  one  corner  stood 
a  huge  bag  of  wool  ready  to  be  spun ;  in  another  a  quantity 
of  linsey-woolsey  just  from  the  loom ;  ears  of  Indian  corn  and 
strings  of  dried  apples  and  peaches,  hung  in  gay  festoons  along 
the  walls,  mingled  with  the  gaud  of  red  peppers ;  and  a  door 
left  ajar  gave  him  a  peep  into  the  best  parlor,  where  the  claw- 
footed  chairs  and  dark  mahogany  tables  shone  like  mirrors  ;  and 
irons,  with  their  accompanying  shovel  and  tongs,  glistened  from 
their  covert  of  asparagus  tops  ;  mock-oranges  and  conch-shells 
decorated  the  mantelpiece ;  strings  of  various-colored  birds'  eggs 
were  suspended  above  it ;  a  great  ostrich  egg  was  hung  from 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and  a  corner  cupboard,  knowingly  left 
open,  displayed  immense  treasures  of  old  silver  and  well-mended 
china. 

From  the  moment  Ichabod  laid  his  eyes  upon  these  regions  of 
delight,  the  peace  of  his  mind  was  at  an  end,  and  his  only  study 
was  how  to  gain  the  affections  of  the  peerless  daughter  of  Van 
Tassel.  In  this  enterprise,  however,  he  had  more  real  difficulties 
than  generally  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  knight-errant  of  yore,  who  seldom 
had  anything  but  giants,  enchanters,  fiery  dragons,  and  such  like 
easily  conquered  adversaries,  to  contend  with  ;  and  had  to  make 
his  way  merely  through  gates  of  iron  and  brass,  and  walls  of 
adamant  to  the  castle  keep,  where  the  lady  of  his  heart  was  con 
fined  ;  all  which  he  achieved  as  easily  as  a  man  would  carve  his 
way  to  the  centre  of  a  Christmas  pie ;  and  then  the  lady  gave  him 
her  hand  as  a  matter  of  course.  Ichabod,  on  the  contrary,  had  to 
win  his  way  to  the  heart  of  a  country  coquette,  beset  with  a  laby 
rinth  of  whims  and  caprices,  which  were  forever  presenting  new 
difficulties  and  impediments  ;  and  he  had  to  encounter  a  host  of 
fearful  adversaries  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  the  numerous  rustic  ad 
mirers,  who  beset  every  portal  to  her  heart,  keeping  a  watchful  and 
angry  eye  upon  each  other,  but  ready  to  fly  out  in  the  common 
cause  against  any  new  competitor. 

Among  these  the  most  formidable  was  a  burly,  roaring,  royster- 
ing  blade,  of  the  name  of  Abraham,  or,  according  to  the  Dutch 
abbreviation,  Brom  Van  Brunt,  the  hero  of  the  country  round, 
which  rang  with  his  feats  of  strength  and  hardihood.  He  was 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  2OI 

broad-shouldered  and  double-jointed,  with  short  curly  black  hair, 
and  a  bluff,  but  not  unpleasant  countenance,  having  a  mingled  air 
of  fun  and  arrogance.  From  his  Herculean  frame  and  great  powers 
of  limb,  he  had  received  the  nickname  of  BROM  BONES,  by  which 
he  was  universally  known.  He  was  famed  for  great  knowledge 
and  skill  in  horsemanship,  being  as  dexterous  on  horseback  as  a 
Tartar.  He  was  foremost  at  all  races  and  cock-fights ;  and,  with 
the  ascendency  which  bodily  strength  acquires  in  rustic  life,  was 
the  umpire  in  all  disputes,  setting  his  hat  on  one  side,  and  giving 
his  decisions  with  an  air  and  tone  admitting  of  no  gainsay  or  appeal. 
He  was  always  ready  for  either  a  fight  or  a  frolic  ;  but  had  more 
mischief  than  ill-will  in  his  composition  ;  and,  with  all  his  over 
bearing  roughness,  there  was  a  strong  dash  of  waggish  good  humor 
at  bottom.  He  had  three  or  four  boon  companions,  who  regarded 
him  as  their  model,  and  at  the  head  of  whom  he  scoured  the 
country,  attending  every  scene  of  feud  or  merriment  for  miles 
round.  In  cold  weather  he  was  distinguished  by  a  fur  cap,  sur 
mounted  with  a  flaunting  fox's  tail ;  and  when  the  folks  at  a 
country  gathering  descried  this  well-known  crest  at  a  distance, 
whisking  about  among  a  squad  of  hard  riders,  they  always  stood 
by  for  a  squall.  Sometimes  his  crew  would  be  heard  dashing  along 
past  the  farmhouses  at  midnight,  with  whoop  and  halloo,  like  a 
troop  of  Don  Cossacks ;  and  the  old  dames,  startled  out  of  their 
sleep,  would  listen  for  a  moment  till  the  hurry-scurry  had  clattered 
by,  and  then  exclaim,  "Ay,  there  goes  Brom  Bones  and  his  gang!  " 
The  neighbors  looked  upon  him  with  a  mixture  of  awe,  admiration, 
and  good-will ;  and,  when  any  madcap  prank  or  rustic  brawl  occurred 
in  the  vicinity,  always  shook  their  heads,  and  warranted  Brom 
Bones  was  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

This  rantipole  hero  had  for  some  time  singled  out  the  blooming 
Katrina  for  the  object  of  his  uncouth  gallantries,  and  though  his 
amorous  toyings  were  something  like  the  gentle  caresses  and  en 
dearments  of  a  bear,  yet  it  was  whispered  that  she  did  not  altogether 
discourage  his  hopes.  Certain  it  is,  his  advances  were  signals  for 
rival  candidates  to  retire,  who  felt  no  inclination  to  cross  a  lion 
in  his  amours  ;  insomuch,  that  when  his  horse  was  seen  tied  to 
Van  Tassel's  paling,  on  a  Sunday  night,  a  sure  sign  that  his  master 


202         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

was  courting,  or,  as  it  is  termed,   "  sparking,"  within,  all  other 
suitors  passed  by  in  despair,  and  carried  the  war  into  other  quarters. 

Such  was  the  formidable  rival  with  whom  Ichabod  Crane  had  to 
contend,  and,  considering  all  things,  a  stouter  man  than  he  would 
have  shrunk  from  the  competition,  and  a  wiser  man  would  have  de 
spaired.  He  had,  however,  a  happy  mixture  of  pliability  and  perse 
verance  in  his  nature  ;  he  was  in  form  and  spirit  like  a  supple-jack 

yielding,  but  tough ;  though  he  bent,  he  never  broke ;  and  though 

he  bowed  beneath  the  slightest  pressure,  yet,  the  moment  it  was  away 
jerk !  he  was  as  erect,  and  carried  his  head  as  high  as  ever. 

To  have  taken  the  field  openly  against  his  rival  would  have  been 
madness  ;  for  he  was  not  a  man  to  be  thwarted  in  his  amours,  any 
more  than  that  stormy  lover,  Achilles.  Ichabod,  therefore,  made 
his  advances  in  a  quiet  and  gently  insinuating  manner.  Under 
cover  of  his  character  of  singing-master,  he  had  made  frequent 
visits  at  the  farm-house  ;  not  that  he  had  anything  to  apprehend 
from  the  meddlesome  interference  of  parents,  which  is  so  often 
a  stumbling-block  in  the  path  of  lovers.  Bait  Van  Tassel  was  an 
easy,  indulgent  soul ;  he  loved  his  daughter  better  even  than  his 
pipe,  and,  like  a  reasonable  man  and  an  excellent  father,  let  her 
have  her  way  in  everything.  His  notable  little  wife,  too,  had  enough 
to  do  to  attend  to  her  housekeeping  and  manage  her  poultry  ;  for, 
as  she  sagely  observed,  ducks  and  geese  are  foolish  things,  and 
must  be  looked  after,  but  girls  can  take  care  of  themselves.  Thus 
while  the  busy  dame  bustled  about  the  house,  or  plied  her  spinning- 
wheel  at  one  end  of  the  piazza,  honest  Bait  would  sit  smoking  his 
evening  pipe  at  the  other,  watching  the  achievements  of  a  little 
wooden  warrior,  who,  armed  with  a  sword  in  each  hand,  was  most 
valiantly  fighting  the  wind  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  barn.  In  the 
meantime,  Ichabod  would  carry  on  his  suit  with  the  daughter  by 
the  side  of  the  spring  under  the  great  elm,  or  sauntering  along  in 
the  twilight,  —  that  hour  so  favorable  to  the  lover's  eloquence. 

I  profess  not  to  know  how  women's  hearts  are  wooed  and  won. 
To  me  they  have  always  been  matters  of  riddle  and  admiration. 
Some  seem  to  have  but  one  vulnerable  point,  or  door  of  access, 
while  others  have  a  thousand  avenues,  and  may  be  captured  in  a 
thousand  different  ways.  It  is  a  great  triumph  of  skill  to  gain  the 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  203 

former,  but  a  still  greater  proof  of  generalship  to  maintain  posses 
sion  of  the  latter,  for  the  man  must  battle  for  his  fortress  at  every 
door  and  window.  He  who  wins  a  thousand  common  hearts  is 
therefore  entitled  to  some  renown  ;  but  he  who  keeps  undisputed 
sway  over  the  heart  of  a  coquette,  is  indeed  a  hero.  Certain  it  is, 
this  was  not  the  case  with  the  redoubtable  Brom  Bones  ;  and  from 
the  moment  Ichabod  Crane  made  his  advances,  the  interests  of  the 
former  evidently  declined ;  his  horse  was  no  longer  seen  tied  at 
the  palings  on  Sunday  nights,  and  a  deadly  feud  gradually  arose 
between  him  and  the  preceptor  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

Brom,  who  had  a  degree  of  rough  chivalry  in  his  nature,  would 
fain  have  carried  matters  to  open  warfare  and  have  settled  their 
pretensions  to  the  lady,  according  to  the  mode  of  those  most  con 
cise  and  simple  reasoners,  the  knights-errant  of  yore,  —  by  single 
combat ;  but  Ichabod  was  too  conscious  of  the  superior  might  of 
his  adversary  to  enter  the  lists  against  him ;  he  had  overheard  a 
boast  of  Bones,  that  he  would  "  double  the  schoolmaster  up,  and 
lay  him  on  a  shelf  of  his  own  schoolhouse,"  and  he  was  too  wary 
to  give  him  an  opportunity.  There  was  something  extremely  pro 
voking  in  this  obstinately  pacific  system  ;  it  left  Brom  no  alternative 
but  to  draw  upon  the  funds  of  rustic  waggery  in  his  disposition, 
and  to  play  off  boorish  practical  jokes  upon  his  rival.  Ichabod  be 
came  the  object  of  whimsical  persecution  to  Bones  and  his  gang 
of  rough  riders.  They  harried  his  hitherto  peaceful  domains, 
smoked  out  his  singing-school  by  stopping  up  the  chimney,  broke 
into  the  schoolhouse  at  night,  in  spite  of  its  formidable  fastenings 
of  withe  and  window  stakes,  and  turned  everything  topsy-turvy,  so 
that  the  poor  schoolmaster  began  to  think  all  the  witches  in  the 
country  held  their  meetings  there.  But  what  was  still  more  annoy 
ing,  Brom  took  all  opportunities  of  turning  him  into  ridicule  in 
presence  of  his  mistress,  and  had  a  scoundrel  dog  whom  he  taught 
to  whine  in  the  most  ludicrous  manner,  and  introduced  as  a  rival 
of  Ichabod's,  to  instruct  her  in  psalmody. 

In  this  way  matters  went  on  for  some  time,  without  producing 
any  material  effect  on  the  relative  situations  of  the  contending 
powers.  On  a  fine  autumnal  afternoon,  Ichabod,  in  pensive  mood, 
sat  enthroned  on  the  lofty  stool  from  whence  he  usually  watched 


204        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

all  the  concerns  of  his  little  literary  realm.  In  his  hand  he  swayed 
a  ferule,  that  sceptre  of  despotic  power  ;  the  birch  of  justice  reposed 
on  three  nails  behind  the  throne,  a  constant  terror  to  evil  doers ; 
while  on  the  desk  before  him  might  be  seen  sundry  contraband 
articles  and  prohibited  weapons,  detected  upon  the  persons  of 
idle  urchins,  such  as  half-munched  apples,  popguns,  whirligigs, 
fly-cages,  and  whole  legions  of  rampant  little  paper  game-cocks. 
Apparently  there  had  been  some  appalling  act  of  justice  recently 
inflicted,  for  his  scholars  were  all  busily  intent  upon  their  books, 
or  slyly  whispering  behind  them  with  one  eye  kept  upon  the  master  ; 
and  a  kind  of  buzzing  stillness  reigned  throughout  the  schoolroom. 
It  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  a  negro  in  tow- 
cloth  jacket  and  trowsers,  a  round-crowned  fragment  of  a  hat,  like 
the  cap  of  Mercury,  and  mounted  on  the  back  of  a  ragged,  wild, 
half-broken  colt,  which  he  managed  with  a  rope  by  way  of  halter. 
He  came  clattering  up  to  the  school-door  with  an  invitation  to 
Ichabod  to  attend  a  merry-making  or  "  quilting-frolic,"  to  be  held 
that  evening  at  Mynheer  Van  Tassel's  ;  and  having  delivered  his 
message  with  that  air  of  importance  and  effort  at  fine  language 
which  a  negro  is  apt  to  display  on  petty  embassies  of  the  kind, 
he  dashed  over  the  brook,  and  was  seen  scampering  away  up  the 
Hollow,  full  of  the  importance  and  hurry  of  his  mission. 

All  was  now  bustle  and  hubbub  in  the  late  quiet  schoolroom. 
The  scholars  were  hurried  through  their  lessons,  without  stopping 
at  trifles  ;  those  who  were  nimble  skipped  over  half  with  impunity, 
and  those  who  were  tardy  had  a  smart  application  now  and  then  in 
the  rear,  to  quicken  their  speed,  or  help  them  over  a  tall  word. 
Books  were  flung  aside  without  being  put  away  on  the  shelves, 
inkstands  were  overturned,  benches  thrown  down,  and  the  whole 
school  was  turned  loose  an  hour  before  the  usual  time,  bursting 
forth  like  a  legion  of  young  imps,  yelping  and  racketing  about 
the  green,  in  joy  at  their  early  emancipation. 

The  gallant  Ichabod  now  spent  at  least  an  extra  half  hour  at  his 
toilet,  brushing  and  furbishing  up  his  best,  and  indeed  only  suit  of 
rusty  black,  and  arranging  his  locks  by  a  bit  of  broken  looking-glass, 
that  hung  up  in  the  schoolhouse.  That  he  might  make  his  appear 
ance  before  his  mistress  in  the  true  style  of  a  cavalier,  he  borrowed 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  205 

a  horse  from  the  farmer  with  whom  he  was  domiciliated,  a  choleric 
old  Dutchman,  of  the  name  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and,  thus  gallantly 
mounted,  issued  forth,  like  a  knight-errant  in  quest  of  adventures. 
But  it  is  meet  I  should,  in  the  true  spirit  of  romantic  story,  give 
some  account  of  the  looks  and  equipments  of  my  hero  and  his 
steed.  The  animal  he  bestrode  was  a  broken-down  plough-horse, 
that  had  outlived  almost  every  thing  but  his  viciousness.  He  was 
gaunt  and  shagged,  with  a  ewe  neck  and  a  head  like  a  hammer ; 
his  rusty  mane  and  tail  were  tangled  and  knotted  with  burrs  ;  one 
eye  had  lost  its  pupil,  and  was  glaring  and  spectral ;  but  the  other 
had  the  gleam  of  a  genuine  devil  in  it.  Still  he  must  have  had  fire 
and  mettle  in  his  day,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  name  he  bore  of 
Gunpowder.  He  had,  in  fact,  been  a  favorite  steed  of  his  master's, 
the  choleric  Van  Ripper,  who  was  a  furious  rider,  and  had  infused, 
very  probably,  some  of  his  own  spirit  into  the  animal ;  for,  old  and 
broken-down  as  he  looked,  there  was  more  of  the  lurking  devil  in 
him  than  in  any  young  filly  in  the  country. 

Ichabod  was  a  suitable  figure  for  such  a  steed.  He  rode  with 
short  stirrups,  which  brought  his  knees  nearly  up  to  the  pommel 
of  the  saddle ;  his  sharp  elbows  stuck  out  like  grasshoppers' ;  he 
carried  his  whip  perpendicularly  in  his  hand,  like  a  sceptre,  and 
as  his  horse  jogged  on,  the  motion  of  his  arms  was  not  unlike  the 
flapping  of  a  pair  of  wings.  A  small  wool  hat  rested  on  the  top  of 
his  nose,  for  so  his  scanty  strip  of  forehead  might  be  called,  and 
the  skirts  of  his  black  coat  fluttered  out  almost  to  the  horse's  tail. 
Such  was  the  appearance  of  Ichabod  and  his  steed  as  they  shambled 
out  of  the  gate  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  it  was  altogether  such  an 
apparition  as  is  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  broad  daylight. 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  fine  autumnal  day ;  the  sky  was  clear 
and  serene,  and  nature  wore  that  rich  and  golden  livery  which  we 
always  associate  with  the  idea  of  abundance.  The  forests  had  put 
on  their  sober  brown  and  yellow,  while  some  trees  of  the  tenderer 
kind  had  been  nipped  by  the  frosts  into  brilliant  dyes  of  orange, 
purple,  and  scarlet.  Streaming  files  of  wild  ducks  began  to  make 
their  appearance  high  in  the  air  ;  the  bark  of  the  squirrel  might  be 
heard  from  the  groves  of  beech  and  hickory-nuts,  and  the  pensive 
whistle  of  the  quail  at  intervals  from  the  neighboring  stubble  field. 


206        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  small  birds  were  taking  their  farewell  banquets.  In  the 
fulness  of  their  revelry,  they  fluttered,  chirping  and  frolicking, 
from  bush  to  bush,  and  tree  to  tree,  capricious  from  the  very  pro 
fusion  and  variety  around  them.  There  was  the  honest  cock-robin, 
the  favorite  game  of  stripling  sportsmen,  with  its  loud  querulous 
notes ;  and  the  twittering  blackbirds  flying  in  sable  clouds ;  and 
the  golden-winged  woodpecker,  with  his  crimson  crest,  his  broad 
black  gorget,  and  splendid  plumage ;  and  the  cedar-bird,  with  its 
red-tipt  wings  and  yellow-tipt  tail,  and  its  little  monteiro  cap  of 
feathers ;  and  the  blue  jay,  that  noisy  coxcomb,  in  his  gay  light- 
blue  coat  and  white  underclothes,  screaming  and  chattering,  nod 
ding  and  bobbing  and  bowing,  and  pretending  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  every  songster  of  the  grove. 

As  Ichabod  jogged  slowly  on  his  way,  his  eye,  ever  open  to 
every  symptom  of  culinary  abundance,  ranged  with  delight  over 
the  treasures  of  jolly  autumn.  On  all  sides  he  beheld  vast  stores 
of  apples ;  some  hanging  in  oppressive  opulence  on  the  trees ; 
some  gathered  into  baskets  and  barrels  for  the  market;  others 
heaped  up  in  rich  piles  for  the  cider-press.  Farther  on  he  beheld 
great  fields  of  Indian  corn,  with  its  golden  ears  peeping  from  their 
leafy  coverts,  and  holding  out  the  promise  of  cakes  and  hasty- 
pudding  ;  and  the  yellow  pumpkins  lying  beneath  them,  turning 
up  their  round  bellies  to  the  sun,  and  giving  ample  prospects  of 
the  most  luxurious  of  pies  ;  and  anon  he  passed  the  fragrant  buck 
wheat  fields,  breathing  the  odor  of  the  bee-hive,  and  as  he  beheld 
them,  soft  anticipations  stole  over  his  mind  of  dainty  slapjacks, 
well  buttered  and  garnished  with  honey  or  treacle,  by  the  delicate 
little  dimpled  hand  of  Katrina  Van  Tassel. 

Thus  feeding  his  mind  with  many  sweet  thoughts  and  "  sugared 
suppositions,"  he  journeyed  along  the  sides  of  a  range  of  hills 
which  look  out  upon  some  of  the  goodliest  scenes  of  the  mighty 
Hudson.  The  sun  gradually  wheeled  his  broad  disk  down  in  the 
west.  The  wide  bosom  of  the  Tappan  Zee  lay  motionless  and 
glassy,  excepting  that  here  and  there  a  gentle  undulation  waved 
and  prolonged  the  blue  shadow  of  the  distant  mountain.  A  few 
amber  clouds  floated  in  the  sky,  without  a  breath  of  air  to  move 
them.  The  horizon  was  of  a  fine  golden  tint,  changing  gradually 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  207 

into  a  pure  apple  green,  and  from  that  into  the  deep  blue  of  the 
mid-heaven.  A  slanting  ray  lingered  on  the  woody  crests  of  the 
precipices  that  overhung  some  parts  of  the  river,  giving  greater 
depth  to  the  dark  gray  and  purple  of  their  rocky  sides.  A  sloop 
was  loitering  in  the  distance,  dropping  slowly  down  with  the  tide, 
her  sail  hanging  uselessly  against  the  mast ;  and  as  the  reflection 
of  the  sky  gleamed  along  the  still  water,  it  seemed  as  if  the  vessel 
was  suspended  in  the  air. 

It  was  toward  evening  that  Ichabod  arrived  at  the  castle  of  the 
Herr  Van  Tassel,  which  he  found  thronged  with  the  pride  and 
flower  of  the  adjacent  country.  Old  farmers,  a  spare  leathern- 
faced  race,  in  homespun  coats  and  breeches,  blue  stockings,  huge 
shoes,  and  magnificent  pewter  buckles.  Their  brisk,  withered  little 
dames,  in  close  crimped  caps,  long-waisted  short-gowns,  homespun 
petticoats,  with  scissors  and  pin-cushions,  and  gay  calico  pockets 
hanging  on  the  outside.  Buxom  lasses,  almost  as  antiquated  as 
their  mothers,  excepting  where  a  straw  hat,  a  fine  ribbon,  or  per 
haps  a  white  frock,  gave  symptoms  of  city  innovation.  The  sons, 
in  short  square-skirted  coats  with  rows  of  stupendous  brass  but 
tons,  and  their  hair  generally  queued  in  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
especially  if  they  could  procure  an  eel-skin  for  the  purpose,  it 
being  esteemed,  throughout  the  country,  as  a  potent  nourisher 
and  strengthener  of  the  hair. 

Brom  Bones,  however,  was  the  hero  of  the  scene,  having  come 
to  the  gathering  on  his  favorite  steed,  Daredevil,  a  creature,  like 
himself,  full  of  mettle  and  mischief,  and  which  no  one  but  him 
self  could  manage.  He  was,  in  fact,  noted  for  preferring  vicious 
animals,  given  to  all  kinds  of  tricks,  which  kept  the  rider  in 
constant  risk  of  his  neck,  for  he  held  a  tractable  well-broken 
horse  as  unworthy  of  a  lad  of  spirit. 

Fain  would  I  pause  to  dwell  upon  the  world  of  charms  that  burst 
upon  the  enraptured  gaze  of  my  hero,  as  he  entered  the  state  parlor 
of  Van  Tassel's  mansion.  Not  those  of  the  bevy  of  buxom  lasses, 
with  their  luxurious  display  of  red  and  white,  but  the  ample  charms 
of  a  genuine  Dutch  country  tea-table,  in  the  sumptuous  time  of 
autumn.  Such  heaped-up  platters  of  cakes  of  various  and  almost 
indescribable  kinds,  known  only  to  experienced  Dutch  housewives  ! 


208        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  was  the  doughty  doughnut,  the  tenderer  oly  koek,  and  the 
crisp  and  crumbling  cruller ;  sweet  cakes  and  short  cakes,  ginger- 
cakes  and  honey-cakes,  and  the  whole  family  of  cakes.  And  then 
there  were  apple-pies  and  peach-pies  and  pumpkin  pies ;  besides 
slices  of  ham  and  smoked  beef ;  and  moreover  delectable  dishes 
of  preserved  plums,  and  peaches,  and  pears,  and  quinces ;  not  to 
mention  broiled  shad  and  roasted  chickens ;  together  with  bowls 
of  milk  and  cream,  all  mingled  higgledy-piggledy,  pretty  much  as 
I  have  enumerated  them,  with  the  motherly  teapot  sending  up  its 
clouds  of  vapor  from  the  midst  —  Heaven  bless  the  mark  !  I  want 
breath  and  time  to  discuss  this  banquet  as  it  deserves,  and  am  too 
eager  to  get  on  with  my  story.  Happily,  Ichabod  Crane  was  not  in  so 
great  a  hurry  as  his  historian,  but  did  ample  justice  to  every  dainty. 

He  was  a  kind  and  thankful  creature,  whose  heart  dilated  in 
proportion  as  his  skin  was  filled  with  good  cheer,  and  whose  spirits 
rose  with  eating,  as  some  men's  do  with  drink.  He  could  not  help, 
too,  rolling  his  large  eyes  round  him  as  he  ate,  and  chuckling  with 
the  possibility  that  he  might  one  day  be  lord  of  all  this  scene  of 
almost  unimaginable  luxury  and  splendor.  Then,  he  thought,  how 
soon  he  'd  turn  his  back  upon  the  old  schoolhouse  ;  snap  his 
fingers  in  the  face  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  every  other  niggardly 
patron,  and  kick  any  itinerant  pedagogue  out  of  doors  that  should 
dare  to  call  him  comrade ! 

Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  moved  about  among  his  guests  with  a 
face  dilated  with  content  and  good-humor,  round  and  jolly  as  the 
harvest  moon.  His  hospitable  attentions  were  brief,  but  expres 
sive,  being  confined  to  a  shake  of  the  hand,  a  slap  on  the  shoul 
der,  a  loud  laugh,  and  a  pressing  invitation  to  "  fall  to,  and  help 
themselves." 

And  now  the  sound  of  the  music  from  the  common  room,  or 
hall,  summoned  to  the  dance.  The  musician  was  an  old  gray- 
headed  negro,  who  had  been  the  itinerant  orchestra  of  the  neigh- 
borhood  for  more  than  half  a  century.  His  instrument  was  as  old 
and  battered  as  himself.  The  greater  part  of  the  time  he  scraped 
on  two  or  three  strings,  accompanying  every  movement  of  the  bow 
with  a  motion  of  the  head  ;  bowing  almost  to  the  ground,  and 
stamping  with  his  foot  whenever  a  fresh  couple  were  to  start. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  209 

Ichabod  prided  himself  upon  his  dancing  as  much  as  upon  his 
vocal  powers.  Not  a  limb,  not  a  fibre  about  him  was  idle  ;  and  to 
have  seen  his  loosely  hung  frame  in  full  motion,  and  clattering 
about  the  room,  you  would  have  thought  Saint  Vitus  himself,  that 
blessed  patron  of  the  dance,  was  figuring  before  you  in  person. 
He  was  the  admiration  of  all  the  negroes  ;  who,  having  gathered, 
of  all  ages  and  sizes,  from  the  farm  and  the  neighborhood,  stood 
forming  a  pyramid  of  shining  black  faces  at  every  door  and  win 
dow,  gazing  with  delight  at  the  scene,  rolling  their  white  eye-balls, 
and  showing  grinning  rows  of  ivory  from  ear  to  ear.  How  could  the 
flogger  of  urchins  be  otherwise  than  animated  and  joyous  ?  the  lady 
of  his  heart  was  his  partner  in  the  dance,  and  smiling  graciously  in 
reply  to  all  his  amorous  oglings  ;  while  Brom  Bones,  sorely  smitten 
with  love  and  jealousy,  sat  brooding  by  himself  in  one  corner. 

When  the  dance  was  at  an  end,  Ichabod  was  attracted  to  a  knot 
of  the  sager  folks,  who,  with  old  Van  Tassel,  sat  smoking  at  one 
end  of  the  piazza,  gossiping  over  former  times,  and  drawing  out 
long  stories  about  the  war. 

This  neighborhood,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  "speaking,  was 
one  of  those  highly  favored  places  which  abound  with  chronicle 
and  great  men.  The  British  and  American  line  had  run  near  it 
during  the  war ;  it  had,  therefore,  been  the  scene  of  marauding, 
and  infested  with  refugees,  cow-boys,  and  all  kinds  of  border 
chivalry.  Just  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  to  enable  each  story 
teller  to  dress  up  his  tale  with  a  little  becoming  fiction,  and,  in 
the  indistinctness  of  his  recollection,  to  make  himself  the  hero 
of  every  exploit. 

There  was  the  story  of  Doffue  Martling,  a  large  blue-bearded 
Dutchman,  who  had  nearly  taken  a  British  frigate  with  an  old  iron 
nine-pounder  from  a  mud  breastwork,  only  that  his  gun  burst  at 
the  sixth  discharge.  And  there  was  an  old  gentleman  who  shall 
be  nameless,  being  too  rich  a  mynheer  to  be  lightly  mentioned, 
who,  in  the  battle  of  White-Plains,  being  an  excellent  master  of 
defence,  parried  a  musket-ball  with  a  small  sword,  insomuch  that 
he  absolutely  felt  it  whiz  round  the  blade,  and  glance  off  at  the 
hilt ;  in  proof  of  which  he  was  ready  at  any  time  to  show  the 
sword,  with  the  hilt  a  little  bent.  There  were  several  more  that 


210        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

had  been  equally  great  in  the  field,  not  one  of  whom  but  was 
persuaded  that  he  had  a  considerable  hand  in  bringing  the  war 
to  a  happy  termination. 

But  all  these  were  nothing  to  the  tales  of  ghosts  and  apparitions 
that  succeeded.  The  neighborhood  is  rich  in  legendary  treasures 
of  the  kind.  Local  tales  and  superstitions  thrive  best  in  these  shel 
tered,  long-settled  retreats  ;  but  are  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
shifting  throng  that  forms  the  population  of  most  of  our  country 
places.  Besides,  there  is  no  encouragement  for  ghosts  in  most  of 
our  villages,  for  they  have  scarcely  had  time  to  finish  their  first 
nap  and  turn  themselves  in  their  graves,  before  their  surviving 
friends  have  travelled  away  from  the  neighborhood  ;  so  that  when 
they  turn  out  at  night  to  walk  their  rounds,  they  have  no  acquaint 
ance  left  to  call  upon.  This  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  we  so 
seldom  hear  of  ghosts  except  in  our  long-established  Dutch 
communities. 

The  immediate  cause,  however,  of  the  prevalence  of  super 
natural  stories  in  these  parts,  was  doubtless  owing  to  the  vicinity 
of  Sleepy  Hollow.  There  was  a  contagion  in  the  very  air  that  blew 
from  that  haunted  region ;  it  breathed  forth  an  atmosphere  of 
dreams  and  fancies  infecting  all  the  land.  Several  of  the  Sleepy 
Hollow  people  were  present  at  Van  Tassel's,  and,  as  usual,  were 
doling  out  their  wild  and  wonderful  legends.  Many  dismal  tales 
were  told  about  funeral  trains,  and  mourning  cries  and  wailings 
heard  and  seen  about  the  great  tree  where  the  unfortunate  Major 
Andre  was  taken,  and  which  stood  in  the  neighborhood.  Some 
mention  was  made  also  of  the  woman  in  white,  that  haunted  the 
dark  glen  at  Raven  Rock,  and  was  often  heard  to  shriek  on  winter 
nights  before  a  storm,  having  perished  there  in  the  snow.  The 
chief  part  of  the  stories,  however,  turned  upon  the  favorite  spectre 
of  Sleepy  Hollow,  the  headless  horseman,  who  had  been  heard 
several  times  of  late,  patrolling  the  country;  and,  it  was  said, 
tethered  his  horse  nightly  among  the  graves  in  the  church-yard. 

The  sequestered  situation  of  this  church  seems  always  to  have 
made  it  a  favorite  haunt  of  troubled  spirits.  It  stands  on  a  knoll, 
surrounded  by  locust-trees  and  lofty  elms,  from  among  which  its 
decent  whitewashed  walls  shine  modestly  forth,  like  Christian  purity 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  21 1 

beaming  through  the  shades  of  retirement.  A  gentle  slope  de 
scends  from  it  to  a  silver  sheet  of  water,  bordered  by  high  trees, 
between  which  peeps  may  be  caught  at  the  blue  hills  of  the  Hud 
son.  To  look  upon  its  grass-grown  yard,  where  the  sunbeams  seem 
to  sleep  so  quietly,  one  would  think  that  there  at  least  the  dead 
might  rest  in  peace.  On  one  side  of  the  church  extends  a  wide 
woody  dell,  along  which  raves  a  large  brook  among  broken  rocks 
and  trunks  of  fallen  trees.  Over  a  deep  black  part  of  the  stream, 
not  far  from  the  church,  was  formerly  thrown  a  wooden  bridge ; 
the  road  that  led  to  it,  and  the  bridge  itself,  were  thickly  shaded 
by  overhanging  trees,  which  cast  a  gloom  about  it,  even  in  the  day 
time,  but  occasioned  a  fearful  darkness  at  night.  This  was  one  of 
the  favorite  haunts  of  the  headless  horseman  ;  and  the  place  where 
he  was  most  frequently  encountered.  The  tale  was  told  of  old 
Brouwer,  a  most  heretical  disbeliever  in  ghosts,  how  he  met  the 
horseman  returning  from  his  foray  into  Sleepy  Hollow,  and  was 
obliged  to  get  up  behind  him ;  how  they  galloped  over  bush  and 
brake,  over  hill  and  swamp,  until  they  reached  the  bridge ;  when 
the  horseman  suddenly  turned  into  a  skeleton,  threw  old  Brouwer 
into  the  brook,  and  sprang  away  over  the  tree-tops  with  a  clap  of 
thunder. 

This  story  was  immediately  matched  by  a  thrice  marvellous  ad 
venture  of  Brom  Bones,  who  made  light  of  the  Galloping  Hessian 
as  an  arrant  jockey.  He  affirmed  that  on  returning  one  night  from 
the  neighboring  village  of  Sing  Sing,  he  had  been  overtaken  by 
this  midnight  trooper ;  that  he  had  offered  to  race  with  him  for 
a  bowl  of  punch,  and  should  have  won  it  too,  for  Daredevil  beat 
the  goblin  horse  all  hollow,  but  just  as  they  came  to  the  church 
bridge,  the  Hessian  bolted,  and  vanished  in  a  flash  of  fire. 

All  these  tales,  told  in  that  drowsy  undertone  with  which  men 
talk  in  the  dark,  the  countenances  of  the  listeners  only  now  and 
then  receiving  a  casual  gleam  from  the  glare  of  a  pipe,  sank  deep 
in  the  mind  of  Ichabod.  He  repaid  them  in  kind  with  large  ex 
tracts  from  his  invaluable  author,  Cotton  Mather,  and  added  many 
marvellous  events  that  had  taken  place  in  his  native  State  of  Con 
necticut,  and  fearful  sights  which  he  had  seen  in  his  nightly  walks 
about  Sleepy  Hollow. 


212        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  revel  now  gradually  broke  up.  The  old  farmers  gathered 
together  their  families  in  their  wagons,  and  were  heard  for  some 
time  rattling  along  the  hollow  roads,  and  over  the  distant  hills. 
Some  of  the  damsels  mounted  on  pillions  behind  their  favorite 
swains,  and  their  light-hearted  laughter,  mingling  with  the  clatter 
of  hoofs,  echoed  along  the  silent  woodlands,  sounding  fainter  and 
fainter,  until  they  gradually  died  away,  —  and  the  late  scene  of 
noise  and  frolic  was  all  silent  and  deserted.  Ichabod  only  lingered 
behind,  according  to  the  custom  of  country  lovers,  to  have  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  the  heiress  ;  fully  convinced  that  he  was  now  on  the  high 
road  to  success.  What  passed  at  this  interview  I  will  not  pretend 
to  say,  for  in  fact  I  do  not  know.  Something,  however,  I  fear  me, 
must  have  gone  wrong,  for  he  certainly  sallied  forth,  after  no  very 
great  interval,  with  an  air  quite  desolate  and  chopfallen.  —  Oh, 
these  women  !  these  women  !  Could  that  girl  have  been  playing 
off  any  of  her  coquettish  tricks  ?  —  Was  her  encouragement  of  the 
poor  pedagogue  all  a  mere  sham  to  secure  her  conquest  of  his 
rival  ?  —  Heaven  only  knows,  not  I  !  —  Let  it  suffice  to  say,  Icha 
bod  stole  forth  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  been  sacking  a  hen 
roost  rather  than  a  fair  lady's  heart.  Without  looking  to  the  right 
or  left  to  notice  the  scene  of  rural  wealth  on  which  he  had  so 
often  gloated,  he  went  straight  to  the  stable,  and  with  several 
hearty  cuffs  and  kicks,  roused  his  steed  most  uncourteously  from 
the  comfortable  quarters  in  which  he  was  soundly  sleeping,  dream 
ing  of  mountains  of  corn  and  oats,  and  whole  valleys  of  timothy 
and  clover. 

It  was  the  very  witching  time  of  night  that  Ichabod,  heavy- 
hearted  and  crest-fallen,  pursued  his  travels  homewards,  along  the 
sides  of  the  lofty  hills  which  rise  above  Tarry  Town,  and  which 
he  had  traversed  so  cheerily  in  the  afternoon.  The  hour  was  as 
dismal  as  himself.  Far  below  him  the  Tappan  Zee  spread  its  dusky 
and  indistinct  waste  of  waters,  with  here  and  there  the  tall  mast  of 
a  sloop,  riding  quietly  at  anchor  under  the  land.  In  the  dead  hush 
of  midnight,  he  could  even  hear  the  barking  of  the  watch-dog  from 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  Hudson ;  but  it  was  so  vague  and  faint 
as  only  to  give  an  idea  of  his  distance  from  this  faithful  companion 
of  man.  Now  and  then,  too,  the  long-drawn  crowing  of  a  cock, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  213 

accidentally  awakened,  would  sound  far,  far  off,  from  some  farm 
house  away  among  the  hills  —  but  it  was  like  a  dreaming  sound 
in  his  ear.  No  signs  of  life  occurred  near  him,  but  occasionally 
the  melancholy  chirp  of  a  cricket,  or  perhaps  the  guttural  twang  of 
a  bull-frog  from  a  neighboring  marsh,  as  if  sleeping  uncomfortably 
and  turning  suddenly  in  his  bed. 

All  the  stories  of  ghosts  and  goblins  that  he  had  heard  in  the 
afternoon  now  came  crowding  upon  his  recollection.  The  night 
grew  darker  and  darker ;  the  stars  seemed  to  sink  deeper  in  the 
sky,  and  driving  clouds  occasionally  hid  them  from  his  sight.  He 
had  never  felt  so  lonely  and  dismal.  He  was,  moreover,  approach 
ing  the  very  place  where  many  of  the  scenes  of  the  ghost  stories 
had  been  laid.  In  the  centre  of  the  road  stood  an  enormous  tulip 
tree,  which  towered  like  a  giant  above  all  the  other  trees  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  formed  a  kind  of  landmark.  Its  limbs  were 
gnarled  and  fantastic,  large  enough  to  form  trunks  for  ordinary 
trees,  twisting  down  almost  to  the  earth,  and  rising  again  into  the 
air.  It  was  connected  with  the  tragical  story  of  the  unfortunate 
Andre,  who  had  been  taken  prisoner  hard  by;  and  was  universally 
known  by  the  name  of  Major  Andre's  tree.  The  common  people 
regarded  it  with  a  mixture  of  respect  and  superstition,  partly  out  of 
sympathy  for  the  fate  of  its  ill-starred  namesake,  and  partly  from  the 
tales  of  strange  sights  and  doleful  lamentations  told  concerning  it. 

As  Ichabod  approached  this  fearful  tree,  he  began  to  whistle : 
he  thought  his  whistle  was  answered  —  it  was  but  a  blast  sweeping 
sharply  through  the  dry  branches.  As  he  approached  a  little  nearer, 
he  thought  he  saw  something  white  hanging  in  the  midst  of  the 
tree  —  he  paused  and  ceased  whistling  ;  but  on  looking  more  nar 
rowly,  perceived  that  it  was  a  place  where  the  tree  had  been  scathed 
by  lightning,  and  the  white  wood  laid  bare.  Suddenly  he  heard  a 
groan — his  teeth  chattered  and  his  knees  smote  against  the  saddle: 
it  was  but  the  rubbing  of  one  huge  bough  upon  another,  as  they 
were  swayed  about  by  the  breeze.  He  passed  the  tree  in  safety, 
but  new  perils  lay  before  him. 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  tree  a  small  brook  crossed 
the  road,  and  ran  into  a  marshy  and  thickly  wooded  glen,  known 
by  the  name  of  Wiley's  swamp.  A  few  rough  logs,  laid  side  by 


214        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

side,  served  for  a  bridge  over  this  stream.  On  that  side  of  the  road 
where  the  brook  entered  the  wood,  a  group  of  oaks  and  chestnuts, 
matted  thick  with  wild  grape-vines,  threw  a  cavernous  gloom  over 
it.  To  pass  this  bridge  was  the  severest  trial.  It  was  at  this  iden 
tical  spot  that  the  unfortunate  Andre  was  captured,  and  under  the 
covert  of  those  chestnuts  and  vines  were  the  sturdy  yeomen  con 
cealed  who  surprised  him.  This  has  ever  since  been  considered 
a  haunted  stream,  and  fearful  are  the  feelings  of  the  schoolboy 
who  has  to  pass  it  alone  after  dark. 

As  he  approached  the  stream,  his  heart  began  to  thump ;  he 
summoned  up,  however,  all  his  resolution,  gave  his  horse  half  a 
score  of  kicks  in  the  ribs,  and  attempted  to  dash  briskly  across  the 
bridge ;  but  instead  of  starting  forward,  the  perverse  old  animal 
made  a  lateral  movement,  and  ran  broadside  against  the  fence. 
Ichabod,  whose  fears  increased  with  the  delay,  jerked  the  reins  on 
the  other  side,  and  kicked  lustily  with  the  contrary  foot :  it  was  all 
in  vain ;  his  steed  started,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  only  to  plunge  to 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road  into  a  thicket  of  brambles  and  alder 
bushes.  The  schoolmaster  now  bestowed  both  whip  and  heel  upon 
the  starveling  ribs  of  old  Gunpowder,  who  dashed  forward,  snuf 
fling  and  snorting,  but  came  to  a  stand  just  by  the  bridge,  with  a 
suddenness  that  had  nearly  sent  his  rider  sprawling  over  his  head. 
Just  at  this  moment  a  plashy  tramp  by  the  side  of  the  bridge 
caught  the  sensitive  ear  of  Ichabod.  In  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
grove,  on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  he  beheld  something  huge, 
misshapen,  black  and  towering.  It  stirred  not,  but  seemed  gathered 
up  in  the  gloom,  like  some  gigantic  monster  ready  to  spring  upon 
the  traveller. 

The  hair  of  the  affrighted  pedagogue  rose  upon  his  head  with 
terror.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  To  turn  and  fly  was  now  too  late ; 
and  besides,  what  chance  was  there  of  escaping  ghost  or  goblin,  if 
such  it  was,  which  could  ride  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind  ?  Sum 
moning  up,  therefore,  a  show  of  courage,  he  demanded  in  stam 
mering  accents,  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  He  received  no  reply.  He 
repeated  his  demand  in  a  still  more  agitated  voice.  Still  there  was 
no  answer.  Once  more  he  cudgelled  the  sides  of  the  inflexible 
Gunpowder,  and,  shutting  his  eyes,  broke  forth  with  involuntary 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  215 

fervor  into  a  psalm  tune.  Just  then  the  shadowy  object  of  alarm 
put  itself  in  motion,  and  with  a  scramble  and  a  bound  stood  at  once 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Though  the  night  was  dark  and  dismal, 
yet  the  form  of  the  unknown  might  now  in  some  degree  be  ascer 
tained.  He  appeared  to  be  a  horseman  of  large  dimensions,  and 
mounted  on  a  black  horse  of  powerful  frame.  He  made  no  offer 
of  molestation  or  sociability,  but  kept  aloof  on  one  side  of  the 
road,  jogging  along  on  the  blind  side  of  old  Gunpowder,  who  had 
now  got  over  his  fright  and  waywardness. 

Ichabod,  who  had  no  relish  for  this  strange  midnight  companion, 
and  bethought  himself  of  the  adventure  of  Brom  Bones  with  the 
Galloping  Hessian,  now  quickened  his  steed  in  hopes  of  leaving 
him  behind.  The  stranger,  however,  quickened  his  horse  to  an 
equal  pace.  Ichabod  pulled  up,  and  fell  into  a  walk,  thinking  to  lag 
behind,  —  the  other  did  the  same.  His  heart  began  to  sink  within 
him  ;  he  endeavored  to  resume  his  psalm  tune,  but  his  parched 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  and  he  could  not  utter  a 
stave.  There  was  something  in  the  moody  and  dogged  silence  of 
this  pertinacious  companion  that  was  mysterious  and  appalling.  It 
was  soon  fearfully  accounted  for.  On  mounting  a  rising  ground, 
which  brought  the  figure  of  his  fellow-traveller  in  relief  against  the 
sky,  gigantic  in  height,  and  muffled  in  a  cloak,  Ichabod  was  horror- 
struck  on  perceiving  that  he  was  headless  !  but  his  horror  was  still 
more  increased  on  observing  that  the  head,  which  should  have 
rested  on  his  shoulders,  was  carried  before  him  on  the  pommel  of 
his  saddle !  His  terror  rose  to  desperation  ;  he  rained  a  shower 
of  kicks  and  blows  upon  Gunpowder,  hoping  by  a  sudden  move 
ment  to  give  his  companion  the  slip ;  but  the  spectre  started  full 
jump  with  him.  Away,  then,  they  dashed  through  thick  and  thin  ; 
stones  flying  and  sparks  flashing  at  every  bound.  Ichabod's  flimsy 
garments  fluttered  in  the  air,  as  he  stretched  his  long  lank  body 
away  over  his  horse's  head,  in  the  eagerness  of  his  flight. 

They  had  now  reached  the  road  which  turns  off  to  Sleepy 
Hollow ;  but  Gunpowder,  who  seemed  possessed  with  a  demon, 
instead  of  keeping  up  it,  made  an  opposite  turn,  and  plunged 
headlong  down  hill  to  the  left.  This  road  leads  through  a  sandy 
hollow,  shaded  by  trees  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  where  it 


216        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

crosses  the  bridge  famous  in  goblin  story ;  and  just  beyond  swells 
the  green  knoll  on  which  stands  the  whitewashed  church. 

As  yet  the  panic  of  the  steed  had  given  his  unskilful  rider  an 
apparent  advantage  in  the  chase ;  but  just  as  he  had  got  half-way 
through  the  hollow,  the  girths  of  the  saddle  gave  way,  and  he  felt 
it  slipping  from  under  him.  He  seized  it  by  the  pommel,  and 
endeavored  to  hold  it  firm,  but  in  vain  ;  and  had  just  time  to  save 
himself  by  clasping  old  Gunpowder  round  the  neck,  when  the 
saddle  fell  to  the  earth,  and  he  heard  it  trampled  underfoot  by  his 
pursuer.  For  a  moment  the  terror  of  Hans  Van  Ripper's  wrath 
passed  across  his  mind  —  for  it  was  his  Sunday  saddle  ;  but  this 
was  no  time  for  petty  fears  ;  the  goblin  was  hard  on  his  haunches  ; 
and  (unskilful  rider  that  he  was  !)  he  had  much  ado  to  maintain 
his  seat ;  sometimes  slipping  on  one  side,  sometimes  on  another, 
and  sometimes  jolted  on  the  high  ridge  of  his  horse's  backbone, 
with  a  violence  that  he  verily  feared  would  cleave  him  asunder. 

An  opening  in  the  trees  now  cheered  him  with  the  hopes  that 
the  church-bridge  was  at  hand.  The  wavering  reflection  of  a  silver 
star  in  the  bosom  of  the  brook  told  him  that  he  was  not  mistaken. 
He  saw  the  walls  of  the  church  dimly  glaring  under  the  trees 
beyond.  He  recollected  the  place  where  Brom  Bones's  ghostly 
competitor  had  disappeared.  "  If  I  can  but  reach  that  bridge," 
thought  Ichabod,  "  I  am  safe."  Just  then  he  heard  the  black  steed 
panting  and  blowing  close  behind  him  ;  he  even  fancied  that  he 
felt  his  hot  breath.  Another  convulsive  kick  in  the  ribs,  and  old 
Gunpowder  sprang  upon  the  bridge  ;  he  thundered  over  the  re 
sounding  planks ;  he  gained  the  opposite  side ;  and  now  Ichabod 
cast  a  look  behind  to  see  if  his  pursuer  should  vanish,  according 
to  rule,  in  a  flash  of  fire  and  brimstone.  Just  then  he  saw  the 
goblin  rising  in  his  stirrups,  and  in  the  very  act  of  hurling  his  head 
at  him.  Ichabod  endeavored  to  dodge  the  horrible  missile,  but  too 
late.  It  encountered  his  cranium  with  a  tremendous  crash,  —  he 
was  tumbled  headlong  into  the  dust,  and  Gunpowder,  the  black 
steed,  and  the  goblin  rider,  passed  by  like  a  whirlwind. 

The  next  morning  the  old  horse  was  found  without  his  saddle, 
and  with  the  bridle  under  his  feet,  soberly  cropping  the  grass  at  his 
master's  gate.  Ichabod  did  not  make  his  appearance  at  breakfast ; 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  217 

dinner-hour  came,  but  no  Ichabod.  The  boys  assembled  at  the 
schoolhouse,  and  strolled  idly  about  the  banks  of  the  brook  ;  but 
no  schoolmaster.  Hans  Van  Ripper  now  began  to  feel  some  uneasi 
ness  about  the  fate  of  poor  Ichabod,  and  his  saddle.  An  inquiry 
was  set  on  foot,  and  after  diligent  investigation  they  came  upon 
his  traces.  In  one  part  of  the  road  leading  to  the  church  was  found 
the  saddle  trampled  in  the  dirt ;  the  tracks  of  horses'  hoofs  deeply 
dented  in  the  road,  and  evidently  at  furious  speed,  were  traced  to 
the  bridge,  beyond  which,  on  the  bank  of  a  broad  part  of  the  brook, 
where  the  water  ran  deep  and  black,  was  found  the  hat  of  the  un 
fortunate  Ichabod,  and  close  beside  it  a  shattered  pumpkin. 

The  brook  was  searched,  but  the  body  of  the  schoolmaster  was 
not  to  be  discovered.  Hans  Van  Ripper,  as  executor  of  his  estate, 
examined  the  bundle  which  contained  all  his  worldly  effects.  They 
consisted  of  two  shirts  and  a  half ;  two  stocks  for  the  neck ;  a  pair 
or  two  of  worsted  stockings  ;  an  old  pair  of  corduroy  small-clothes ; 
a  rusty  razor  ;  a  book  of  psalm-tunes,  full  of  dogs'  ears,  and  a  broken 
pitch-pipe.  As  to  the  books  and  furniture  of  the  schoolhouse,  they 
belonged  to  the  community,  excepting  Cotton  Mather's  "  History 
of  Witchcraft,"  a  "  New  England  Almanac,"  and  a  book  of  dreams 
and  fortune-telling ;  in  which  last  was  a  sheet  of  foolscap  much 
scribbled  and  blotted  in  several  fruitless  attempts  to  make  a  copy 
of  verses  in  honor  of  the  heiress  of  Van  Tassel.  These  magic 
books  and  the  poetic  scrawl  were  forthwith  consigned  to  the  flames 
by  Hans  Van  Ripper ;  who  from  that  time  forward  determined  to 
send  his  children  no  more  to  school ;  observing  that  he  never 
knew  any  good  come  of  this  same  reading  and  writing.  Whatever 
money  the  schoolmaster  possessed,  and  he  had  received  his  quar 
ter's  pay  but  a  day  or  two  before,  he  must  have  had  about  his 
person  at  the  time  of  his  disappearance. 

The  mysterious  event  caused  much  speculation  at  the  church  on 
the  following  Sunday.  Knots  of  gazers  and  gossips  were  collected 
in  the  churchyard,  at  the  bridge,  and  at  the  spot  where  the  hat  and 
pumpkin  had  been  found.  The  stories  of  Brouwer,  of  Bones,  and 
a  whole  budget  of  others,  were  called  to  mind  ;  and  when  they  had 
diligently  considered  them  all,  and  compared  them  with  the  symp 
toms  of  the  present  case,  they  shook  their  heads,  and  came  to  the 


218         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

conclusion  that  Ichabod  had  been  carried  off  by  the  galloping 
Hessian.  As  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  in  nobody's  debt,  nobody 
troubled  his  head  any  more  about  him.  The  school  was  removed 
to  a  different  quarter  of  the  hollow,  and  another  pedagogue  reigned 
in  his  stead. 

It  is  true,  an  old  farmer,  who  had  been  down  to  New  York  on 
a  visit  several  years  after,  and  from  whom  this  account  of  the 
ghostly  adventure  was  received,  brought  home  the  intelligence  that 
Ichabod  Crane  was  still  alive ;  that  he  had  left  the  neighborhood, 
partly  through  fear  of  the  goblin  and  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  partly 
in  mortification  at  having  been  suddenly  dismissed  by  the  heiress ; 
that  he  had  changed  his  quarters  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country  ; 
had  kept  school  and  studied  law  at  the  same  time,  had  been  ad 
mitted  to  the  bar,  turned  politician,  electioneered,  written  for  the 
newspapers,  and  finally  had  been  made  a  justice  of  the  Ten  Pound 
Court.  Brom  Bones  too,  who  shortly  after  his  rival's  disappearance 
conducted  the  blooming  Katrina  in  triumph  to  the  altar,  was  ob 
served  to  look  exceedingly  knowing  whenever  the  story  of  Ichabod 
was  related,  and  always  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  mention 
of  the  pumpkin ;  which  led  some  to  suspect  that  he  knew  more 
about  the  matter  than  he  chose  to  tell. 

The  old  country  wives,  however,  who  are  the  best  judges  of 
these  matters,  maintain  to  this  day  that  Ichabod  was  spirited  away 
by  supernatural  means ;  and  it  is  a  favorite  story  often  told  about 
the  neighborhood  round  the  winter  evening  fire.  The  bridge  be 
came  more  than  ever  an  object  of  superstitious  awe  ;  and  that  may 
be  the  reason  why  the  road  has  been  altered  of  late  years,  so  as  to 
approach  the  church  by  the  border  of  the  mill-pond.  The  school- 
house  being  deserted  soon  fell  to  decay,  and  was  reported  to  be 
haunted  by  the  ghost  of  the  unfortunate  pedagogue;  and  the 
plough-boy,  loitering  homeward  of  a  still  summer  evening,  has 
often  fancied  his  voice  at  a  distance,  chanting  a  melancholy  psalm 
tune  among  the  tranquil  solitudes  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  219 

INTERIOR   OF  THE  ALHAMBRA 
FROM  "THE  ALHAMBRA" 

The  Alhambra  has  been  so  often  and  so  minutely  described  by 
travellers,  that  a  mere  sketch  will  probably  be  sufficient  for  the 
reader  to  refresh  his  recollection ;  I  will  give,  therefore,  a  brief 
account  of  our  visit  to  it  the  morning  after  our  arrival  in  Granada. 
Leaving  our  posada  of  La  Espada,  we  traversed  the  renowned 
square  of  the  Vivarrambla,  once  the  scene  of  Moorish  jousts  and 
tournaments,  now  a  crowded  market  place.  From  thence  we  pro 
ceeded  along  the  Zacatin,  the  main  street  of  what  was  the  great 
Bazaar,  in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  where  the  small  shops  and  nar 
row  alleys  still  retain  their  Oriental  character.  Crossing  an  open 
place  in  front  of  the  palace  of  the  captain-general,  we  ascended  a 
confined  and  winding  street,  the  name  of  which  reminded  us  of 
the  chivalric  days  of  Granada.  It  is  called  the  Calle,  or  street  of 
the  Gomeres  :  from  a  Moorish  family,  famous  in  chronicle  and 
song.  This  street  led  up  to  a  mansion  gateway  of  Grecian  archi 
tecture,  built  by  Charles  V.,  forming  the  entrance  to  the  domains 
of  the  Alhambra. 

At  the  gate  were  two  or  three  ragged  and  superannuated  soldiers, 
dozing  on  a  stone  bench,  the  successors  of  the  Zegris  and  the 
Abencerrages  ;  while  a  tall,  meagre  varlet,  whose  rusty  brown  cloak 
was,  evidently,  intended  to  conceal  the  ragged  state  of  his  nether 
garments,  was  lounging  in  the  sunshine,  and  gossipping  with  an 
ancient  sentinel,  on  duty.  He  joined  us  as  we  entered  the  gate, 
and  offered  his  services  to  show  us  the  fortress. 

I  have  a  traveller's  dislike  to  officious  ciceroni,  and  did  not 
altogether  like  the  garb  of  the  applicant  : 

"  You  are  well  acquainted  with  the  place,  I  presume  ?  " 
"  Nifiguno  mas  —  pues,  senor,  soy  hijo  de  la  Alhambra." 
(Nobody  better  —  in  fact,  sir,  I  am  a  son  of  the  Alhambra.) 
The  common  Spaniards  have  certainly  a  most  poetical  way  of 
expressing  themselves—   "  A  son  of  the  Alhambra!  "  the  appel 
lation   caught  me  at  once ;   the  very  tattered  garb  of  my  new 
acquaintance  assumed  a  dignity  in  my  eyes.    It  was  emblematic 
of  the  features  of  the  place,  and  became  the  progeny  of  a  ruin. 


220        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

I  put  some  further  questions  to  him,  and  found  his  title  was 
legitimate.  His  family  had  lived  in  the  fortress  from  generation 
to  generation  ever  since  the  time'  of  the  conquest.  His  name 
was  Mateo  Ximenes.  "Then,  perhaps,"  said  I,  "you  may  be  a 
descendant  from  the  great  Cardinal  Ximenes." 

"  Dios  sabe !  God  knows,  senor.  It  may  be  so.  We  are  the 
oldest  family  in  the  Alhambra.  Viejos  Cristianos,  old  Christians, 
without  any  taint  of  Moor  or  Jew.  I  know  we  belong  to  some 
great  family  or  other,  but  I  forget  who.  My  father  knows  all 
about  it.  He  has  the  coat  of  arms  hanging  up  in  his  cottage,  up 
in  the  fortress."  -There  is  never  a  Spaniard,  however  poor,  but 
has  some  claim  to  high  pedigree.  The  first  title  of  this  ragged 
worthy,  however,  had  completely,  captivated  me,  so  I  gladly  accepted 
the  services  of  the  "  son  of  the  Alhambra." 

We  now  found  ourselves  in  a  deep,  narrow  ravine,  filled  with 
beautiful  groves,  with  a  steep  avenue,  and  various  footpaths  wind 
ing  through  it,  bordered  with  stone  seats,  and  ornamented  with 
fountains.  To  our  left  we  beheld  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra 
beetling  above  us  ;  to  our  right,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine, 
we  were  equally  dominated  by  rival  towers  on  a  rocky  eminence. 
These,  we  were  told,  were  the  Torres  Vermejos,  or  vermilion 
towers,  so  called  from  their  ruddy  hue.  No  one  knows  their  origin. 
They  are  of  a  date  much  anterior  to  the  Alhambra  :  some  suppose 
them  to  have  been  built  by  the  Romans ;  others,  by  some  wander 
ing  colony  of  Phoenicians.  Ascending  the  steep  and  shady  avenue, 
we  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  square  Moorish  tower,  forming  a 
kind  of  barbican,  through  which  passed  the  main  entrance  to  the 
fortress.  Within  the  barbican  was  a  group  of  veteran  invalids,  one 
mounting  guard  at  the  portal,  while  the  rest,  wrapped  in  their 
tattered  cloaks,  slept  on  the  stone  benches.  This  portal  is  called 
the  Gate  of  Justice,  from  the  tribunal  held  within  its  porch  during 
the  Moslem  domination,  for  the  immediate  trial  of  petty  causes  :  a 
custom  common  to  the  Oriental  nations,  and  occasionally  alluded 
to  in  the  Sacred  Scriptures. 

The  great  vestibule,  or  porch  of  the  gate,  is  formed  by  an  im 
mense  Arabian  arch,  of  the  horseshoe  form,  which  springs  to  half 
the  height  of  the  tower.  On  the  keystone  of  this  arch  is  engraven 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  221 

a  gigantic  hand.  Within  the  vestibule  on  the  keystone  of  the  portal, 
is  sculptured,  in  like  manner,  a  gigantic  key.  Those  who  pretend 
to  some  knowledge  of  Mohammedan  symbols,  affirm  that  the  hand 
is  the  emblem  of  doctrine  and  the  key  of  faith  ;  the  latter,  we  are 
told,  was  emblazoned  on  the  standard  of  the  Moslems  in  opposition 
to  the  Christian  emblem  of  the  cross,  when  they  subdued  Andalusia. 
A  different  explanation  of  these  emblems,  however,  was  given  by 
the  legitimate  son  of  the  Alhambra,  and  one  more  in  unison  with 
the  notions  of  the  common  people,  who  attach  something  of  mystery 
and  magic  to  everything  Moorish,  and  have  all  kinds  of  superstitions 
connected  with  this  old  Moslem  fortress. 

According  to  Mateo,  it  was  a  tradition  handed  down  from  the 
oldest  inhabitants,  and  which  he  had  from  his  father  and  grand 
father,  that  the  hand  and  key  were  magical  devices  on  which  the 
fate  of  the  Alhambra  depended.  The  Moorish  king  who  built  it 
was  a  great  magician,  or,  as  some  believed,  had  sold  himself  to  the 
devil,  and  had  laid  the  whole  fortress  under  a  magic  spell.  By  this 
means  it  had  remained  standing  for  several  hundred  years,  in  de 
fiance  of  storms  and  earthquakes,  while  almost  all  other  buildings 
of  the  Moors  had  fallen  to  ruin  and  disappeared.  This  spell,  the 
tradition  went  on  to  say,  would  last  until  the  hand  on  the  outer 
arch  should  reach  down  and  grasp  the  key,  when  the  whole  pile 
would  tumble  to  pieces,  and  all  the  treasures  buried  beneath  it  by 
the  Moors  would  be  revealed. 

Notwithstanding  this  ominous  prediction,  we  ventured  to  pass 
through  the  spell-bound  gateway,  feeling  some  little  assurance 
against  magic  art  in  the  protection  of  the  Virgin,  a  statue  of 
whom  we  observed  above  the  portal. 

After  passing  through  the  Barbican,  we  ascended  a  narrow  lane, 
winding  between  walls,  and  came  on  an  open  esplanade  within 
the  fortress,  called  the  Plaza  de  los  Algibes,  or  Place  of  the  Cis 
terns,  from  great  reservoirs  which  undermine  it,  cut  in  the  living 
rock  by  the  Moors,  for  the  supply  of  the  fortress.  Here,  also,  is 
a  well  of  immense  depth,  furnishing  the  purest  and  coldest  of 
water,  —  another  monument  of  the  delicate  taste  of  the  Moors, 
who  were  indefatigable  in  their  exertions  to  obtain  that  element 
in  its  crystal  purity. 


222         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  front  of  this  esplanade  is  the  splendid  pile,  commenced  by 
Charles  V.,  intended,  it  is  said,  to  eclipse  the  residence  of  the 
Moslem  kings.  With  all  its  grandeur  and  architectural  merit,  it 
appeared  to  us  like  an  arrogant  intrusion,  and  passing  by  it  we 
entered  a  simple  unostentatious  portal,  opening  into  the  interior 
of  the  Moorish  palace. 

The  transition  was  almost  magical ;  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  at 
once  transported  into  other  times  and  another  realm,  and  were 
treading  the  scenes  of  Arabian  story.  We  found  ourselves  in  a 
great  court  paved  with  white  marble  and  decorated  at  each  end 
with  light  Moorish  peristyles.  It  is  called  the  court  of  the  Alberca. 
In  the  centre  was  an  immense  basin,  or  fish-pool,  a  hundred  and 
thirty  feet  in  length,  by  thirty  in  breadth,  stocked  with  gold-fish, 
and  bordered  by  hedges  of  roses.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  court, 
rose  the  great  tower  of  Comares. 

From  the  lower  end,  we  passed  through  a  Moorish  arch-way 
into  the  renowned  Court  of  Lions.  There  is  no  part  of  the  edifice 
that  gives  us  a  more  complete  idea  of  its  original  beauty  and  mag 
nificence  than  this  ;  for  none  has  suffered  so  little  from  the  ravages 
of  time.  In  the  centre  stands  the  fountain  famous  in  song  and 
story.  The  alabaster  basins  still  shed  their  diamond  drops,  and  the 
twelve  lions  which  support  them,  cast  forth  their  crystal  streams  as 
in  the  days  of  Boabdil.  The  court  is  laid  out  in  flower  beds,  and 
surrounded  by  light  Arabian  arcades  of  open  filigree  work,  sup 
ported  by  slender  pillars  of  white  marble.  The  architecture,  like 
that  of  all  the  other  parts  of  the  palace,  is  characterized  by  ele 
gance,  rather  than  grandeur,  bespeaking  a  delicate  and  graceful 
taste,  and  a  disposition  to  indolent  enjoyment.  When  one  looks 
upon  the  apparently  fragile  fretwork  of  the  walls,  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  so  much  has  survived  the  wear  and  tear  of  centuries, 
the  shocks  of  earthquakes,  the  violence  of  war,  and  the  quiet, 
though  no  less  baneful,  pilferings  of  the  tasteful  traveller ;  it  is 
almost  sufficient  to  excuse  the  popular  tradition,  that  the  whole 
is  protected  by  a  magic  charm. 

On  one  side  of  the  court,  a  portal  richly  adorned  opens  into  a 
lofty  hall  paved  with  white  marble,  and  called  the  Hall  of  the  Two 
Sisters.  A  cupola  or  lantern  admits  a  tempered  light  from  above, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  223 

and  a  free  circulation  of  air.  The  lower  part  of  the  walls  is  incrusted 
with  beautiful  Moorish  tiles,  on  some  of  which  are  emblazoned  the 
escutcheons  of  the  Moorish  monarchs  :  the  upper  part  is  faced  with 
the  fine  stucco  work  invented  at  Dama'scus,  consisting  of  large  plates 
cast  in  moulds  and  artfully  joined,  so  as  to  have  the  appearance  of 
having  been  laboriously  sculptured  by  the  hand  into  light  relievos 
and  fanciful  arabesques,  intermingled  with  texts  of  the  Koran,  and 
poetical  inscriptions  in  Arabian  and  Celtic  characters.  These  dec 
orations  of  the  walls  and  cupolas  are  richly  gilded,  and  the  inter 
stices  panelled  with  lapis  lazuli  and  other  brilliant  and  enduring 
colours.  On  each  side  of  the  wall  are  recesses  for  ottomans  and 
arches.  Above  an  inner  porch,  is  a  balcony  which  communicated 
with  the  women's  apartment.  The  latticed  balconies  still  remain, 
from  whence  the  dark-eyed  beauties  of  the  harem  might  gaze 
unseen  upon  the  entertainments  of  the  hall  below. 

It  is  impossible  to  contemplate  this  scene,  so  perfectly  Oriental, 
without  feeling  the  early  associations  of  Arabian  romance,  and  almost 
expecting  to  see  the  white  arm  of  some  mysterious  princess  beckon 
ing  from  the  gallery,  or  some  dark  eye  sparkling  through  the 
lattice.  The  abode  of  beauty  is  here  as  if  it  had  been  inhabited 
but  yesterday ;  but  where  are  the  two  sisters,  where  the  Zoraydas 
and  Lindaraxas ! 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Court  of  the  Lions  is  the  Hall  of 
the  Abencerrages,  so  called  from  the  gallant  cavaliers  of  that  illus 
trious  line,  who  were  here  perfidiously  massacred.  There  are  some 
who  doubt  the  whole  truth  of  this  story,  but  our  humble  attendant, 
Mateo,  pointed  out  the  very  wicket  of  the  portal  through  which 
they  are  said  to  have  been  introduced,  one  by  one,  and  the  white 
marble  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  where  they  were  beheaded. 
He  showed  us  also  certain  broad  ruddy  stains  in  the  pavement, 
traces  of  their  blood,  which,  according  to  popular  belief,  can  never 
be  effaced.  Finding  we  listened  to  him  with  easy  faith,  he  added, 
that  there  was  often  heard  at  night,  in  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  a 
low  confused  sound,  resembling  the  murmurings  of  a  multitude  ; 
with  now  and  then  a  faint  tinkling,  like  the  distant  clank  of  chains. 
These  noises  are  probably  produced  by  the  bubbling  currents  and 
tinkling  falls  of  water,  conducted  under  the  pavement  through 


224         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

pipes  and  channels  to  supply  the  fountains  ;  but  according  to  the 
legend  of  the  son  of  the  Alhambra,  they  are  made  by  the  spirits 
of  the  murdered  Abencerrages,  who  nightly  haunt  the  scene  of  their 
suffering,  and  invoke  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  on  their  destroyer. 

From  the  Court  of  Lions,  we  retraced  our  steps  through  the 
court  of  the  Alberca,  or  great  fish-pool,  crossing  which,  we  pro 
ceeded  to  the  tower  of  Comares,  so  called  from  the  name  of  the 
Arabian  architect.  It  is  of  massive  strength,  and  lofty  height, 
domineering  over  the  rest  of  the  edifice,  and  overhanging  the  steep 
hill-side,  which  descends  abruptly  to  the  banks  of  the  Darro.  A 
Moorish  archway  admitted  us  into  a  vast  and  lofty  hall,  which 
occupies  the  interior  of  the  tower,  and  was  the  grand  audience 
chamber  of  the  Moslem  monarchs,  thence  called  the  hall  of  Am 
bassadors.  It  still  bears  the  traces  of  past  magnificence.  The  walls 
are  richly  stuccoed  and  decorated  with  arabesques,  the  vaulted  ceil 
ings  of  cedar  wood  almost  lost  in  obscurity  from  its  height,  still 
gleam  with  rich  gilding  and  the  brilliant  tints  of  the  Arabian  pencil. 
On  three  sides  of  the  saloon  are  deep  windows,  cut  thiough  the 
immense  thickness  of  the  walls,  the  balconies  of  which  look  down 
upon  the  verdant  valley  of  the  Darro,  the  streets  and  convents  of 
the  Albaycin,  and  command  a  prospect  of  the  distant  Vega.  I  might 
go  on  to  describe  the  other  delightful  apartments  of  this  side  of  the 
palace ;  the  Tocador  or  toilet  of  the  Queen,  an  open  belvedere 
on  the  summit  of  the  tower,  where  the  Moorish  sultanas  enjoyed 
the  pure  breezes  from  the  mountain  and  the  prospect  of  the 
surrounding  paradise.  The  secluded  little  patio  or  garden  of  Lin- 
daraxa,  with  its  alabaster  fountain,  its  thickets  of  roses  and  myrtles, 
of  citrons  and  oranges.  The  cool  halls  and  grottoes  of  the  baths, 
where  the  glare  and  heat  of  day  are  tempered  into  a  self-mysterious 
light  and  a  pervading  freshness.  But  I  appear  to  dwell  minutely 
on  these  scenes.  My  object  is  merely  to  give  the  reader  a  gen 
eral  introduction  into  an  abode,  where,  if  disposed,  he  may  linger 
and  loiter  with  me  through  the  remainder  of  this  work,  gradually 
becoming  familiar  with  all  its  beauties. 

An  abundant  supply  of  water,  brought  from  the  mountains  by  old 
Moorish  aqueducts,  circulates  throughout  the  palace,  supplying  its 
baths  and  fish-pools,  sparkling  in  jets  within  its  halls,  or  murmuring 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  225 

in  channels  along  the  marble  pavements.  When  it  has  paid  its 
tribute  to  the  royal  pile,  and  visited  its  gardens  and  pastures,  it 
flows  down  the  long  avenue  leading  to  the  city,  tinkling  in  rills, 
gushing  in  fountains,  and  maintaining  a  perpetual  verdure  in  those 
groves  that  embower  and  beautify  the  whole  hill  of  the  Alhambra. 

Those,  only,  who  have  sojourned  in  the  ardent  climates  of  the 
South,  can  appreciate  the  delights  of  an  abode  combining  the  breezy 
coolness  of  the  mountain  with  the  freshness  and  verdure  of  the  valley. 

While  the  city  below  pants  with  the  noon-tide  heat,  and  the 
parched  Vega  trembles  to  the  eye,  the  delicate  airs  from  the  Sierra 
Nevada  play  through  the  lofty  halls,  bringing  with  them  the  sweet 
ness  of  the  surrounding  gardens.  Every  thing  invites  to  that  indo 
lent  repose,  the  bliss  of  Southern  climes  ;  and  while  the  half-shut 
eye  looks  out  from  shaded  balconies  upon  the  glittering  landscape, 
the  ear  is  lulled  by  the  rustling  of  groves,  and  the  murmur  of 
running  streams. 


JAMES   FENIMORE  COOPER 

[Born  at  Burlington,  New  Jersey,  September  15,  1789;  died  at  Cooperstown, 
New  York,  September  14,  1851] 

THE   LAST   OF  THE  MOHICANS 
CHAP.  XXIII 

But  though  the  beast  of  game 
The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim ; 
Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend 
Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend ; 
Who  ever  reeked,  where,  how,  or  when 
The  prowling  fox  was  trapped  or  slain  ? 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 

It  is  unusual  to  find  an  encampment  of  the  natives,  like  those 
of  the  more  instructed  whites,  guarded  by  the  presence  of  armed 
men.  Well  informed  of  the  approach  of  every  danger,  while  it  is 
yet  at  a  distance,  the  Indian  generally  rests  secure  under  his  knowl 
edge  of  the  signs  of  the  forest,  and  the  long  and  difficult  paths  that 


226        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

separate  him  from  those  he  has  most  reason  to  dread.  But  the 
enemy  who,  by  any  lucky  concurrence  of  accidents,  has  found 
means  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  scouts,  will  seldom  meet  with 
sentinels  nearer  home  to  sound  the  alarm.  In  addition  to  this 
general  usage,  the  tribes  friendly  to  the  French  knew  too  well  the 
weight  of  the  blow  that  had  just  been  struck,  to  apprehend  any 
immediate  danger  from  the  hostile  nations  that  were  tributary  to 
the  crown  of  Britain. 

When  Duncan  and  David,  therefore,  found  themselves  in  the 
centre  of  the  children,  who  played  the  antics  already  mentioned, 
it  was  without  the  least  previous  intimation  of  their  approach.  But 
so  soon  as  they  were  observed  the  whole  of  the  juvenile  pack  raised, 
by  common  consent,  a  shrill  and  warning  whoop  ;  and  then  sank, 
as  it  were,  by  magic,  from  before  the  sight  of  their  visitors.  The 
naked,  tawny  bodies  of  the  crouching  urchins  blended  so  nicely  at 
that  hour,  with  the  withered  herbage,  that  at  first  it  seemed  as  if 
the  earth  had,  in  truth,  swallowed  up  their  forms ;  though  when 
surprise  permitted  Duncan  to  bend  his  look  more  curiously  about  the 
spot,  he  found  it  everywhere  met  by  dark,  quick,  and  rolling  eyeballs. 

Gathering  no  encouragement  from  this  startling  presage  of  the 
nature  of  the  scrutiny  he  was  likely  to  undergo  from  the  more 
mature  judgments  of  the  men,  there  was  an  instant  when  the  young 
soldier  would  have  retreated.  It  was,  however,  too  late  to  appear 
to  hesitate.  The  cry  of  the  children  had  drawn  a  dozen  warriors 
to  the  door  of  the  nearest  lodge,  where  they  stood  clustered  in  a 
dark  and  savage  group,  gravely  awaiting  the  nearer  approach  of 
those  who  had  unexpectedly  come  among  them. 

David,  in  some  measure  familiarized  to  the  scene,  led  the  way 
with  a  steadiness  that  no  slight  obstacle  was  likely  to  disconcert, 
into  this  very  building.  It  was  the  principal  edifice  of  the  village, 
though  roughly  constructed  of  the  bark  and  branches  of  trees ; 
being  the  lodge  in  which  the  tribe  held  its  councils  and  public 
meetings  during  their  temporary  residence  on  the  borders  of  the 
English  province.  Duncan  found  it  difficult  to  assume  the  neces 
sary  appearance  of  unconcern,  as  he  brushed  the  dark  and  powerful 
frames  of  the  savages  who  thronged  its  threshold ;  but,  conscious 
that  his  existence  depended  on  his  presence  of  mind,  he  trusted  to 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  227 

the  discretion  of  his  companion,  whose  footsteps  he  closely  fol 
lowed,  endeavoring,  as  he  proceeded,  to  rally  his  thoughts  for  the 
occasion.  His  blood  curdled  when  he  found  himself  in  absolute 
contact  with  such  fierce  and  implacable  enemies  ;  but  he  so  far 
mastered  his  feelings  as  to  pursue  his  way  into  the  centre  of  the 
lodge,  with  an  exterior  that  did  not  betray  the  weakness.  Imitating 
the  example  of  the  deliberate  Gamut,  he  drew  a  bundle  of  fragrant 
brush  from  beneath  a  pile  that  filled  the  corner  of  the  hut,  and 
seated  himself  in  silence. 

So  soon  as  their  visitor  had  passed,  the  observant  warriors  fell 
back  from  the  entrance,  and  arranging  themselves  about  him,  they 
seemed  patiently  to  await  the  moment  when  it  might  comport  with 
the  dignity  of  the  stranger  to  speak.  By  far  the  greater  number 
stood  leaning,  in  lazy,  lounging  attitudes,  against  the  upright  posts 
that  supported  the  crazy  building,  while  three  or  four  of  the  oldest 
and  most  distinguished  of  the  chiefs  placed  themselves  on  the 
earth  a  little  more  in  advance. 

A  flaring  torch  was  burning  in  the  place,  and  sent  its  red  glare 
from  face  to  face  and  figure  to  figure,  as  it  waved  in  the  currents 
of  air.  Duncan  profited  by  its  light  to  read  the  probable  character 
of  his  reception,  in  the  countenances  of  his  hosts.  But  his  in 
genuity  availed  him  little  against  the  cold  artifices  of  the  people 
he  had  encountered.  The  chiefs  in  front  scarce  cast  a  glance  at 
his  person,  keeping  their  eyes  on  the  ground,  with  an  air  that 
might  have  been  intended  for  respect,  but  which  it  was  quite  easy 
to  construe  into  distrust.  The  men  in  shadow  were  less  reserved. 
Duncan  soon  detected  their  searching,  but  stolen  looks,  which,  in 
truth,  scanned  his  person  and  attire  inch  by  inch  ;  leaving  no 
emotion  of  the  countenance,  no  gesture,  no  line  of  the  paint,  nor 
even  the  fashion  of  a  garment,  unheeded,  and  without  comment. 

At  length  one  whose  hair  was  beginning  to  be  sprinkled  with 
gray,  but  whose  sinewy  limbs  and  firm  tread  announced  that  he 
was  still  equal  to  the  duties  of  manhood,  advanced  out  of  the 
gloom  of  a  corner,  whither  he  had  probably  posted  himself  to 
make  his  observations  unseen,  and  spoke.  He  used  the  language 
of  the  Wyandots,  or  Hurons  ;  his  words  were,  consequently,  unin 
telligible  to  Heyward,  though  they  seemed,  by  the  gestures  that 


228        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

accompanied  them,  to  be  uttered  more  in  courtesy  than  anger. 
The  latter  shook  his  head,  and  made  a  gesture  indicative  of  his 
inability  to  reply. 

"  Do  none  of  my  brothers  speak  the  French  or  the  English  ? " 
he  said,  in  the  former  language,  looking  about  him  from  counte 
nance  to  countenance,  in  hopes  of  finding  a  nod  of  assent. 

Though  more  than  one  had  turned,  as  if  to  catch  the  meaning 
of  his  words,  they  remained  unanswered. 

"  I  should  be  grieved  to  think,"  continued  Duncan,  speaking 
slowly,  and  using  the  simplest  French  of  which  he  was  the  master, 
"  to  believe  that  none  of  this  wise  and  brave  nation  understand 
the  language  that  the  '  Grand  Monarque '  uses  when  he  talks  to 
his  children.  His  heart  would  be  heavy  did  he  believe  his  red 
warriors  paid  him  so  little  respect !  " 

A  long  and  grave  pause  succeeded,  during  which  no  movement 
of  a  limb,  nor  any  expression  of  an  eye,  betrayed  the  impression 
produced  by  his  remark.  Duncan,  who  knew  that  silence  was  a 
virtue  among  his  hosts,  gladly  had  recourse  to  the  custom,  in  order 
to  arrange  his  ideas.  At  length  the  same  warrior  who  had  before 
addressed  him  replied,  by  dryly  demanding  in  the  language  of  the 
Canadas : — 

"  When  our  Great  Father  speaks  to  his  people,  is  it  with  the 
tongue  of  a  Huron  ?  " 

"  He  knows  no  difference  in  his  children,  whether  the  color  of 
the  skin  be  red,  or  black,  or  white,"  returned  Duncan,  evasively; 
"  though  chiefly  is  he  satisfied  with  the  brave  Hurons." 

"In  what  manner  will  he  speak,"  demanded  the  wary  chief, 
"  when  the  runners  count  to  him  the  scalps  which  five  nights  ago 
grew  on  the  heads  of  the  Yengeese  ?  " 

'They  were  his  enemies,"  said  Duncan,  shuddering  involun 
tarily  ;  "  and  doubtless,  he  will  say,  it  is  good  ;  my  Hurons  are 
very  gallant." 

"  Our  Canada  father  does  not  think  it.  Instead  of  looking  for 
ward  to  reward  his  Indians,  his  eyes  are  turned  backward.  He 
sees  the  dead  Yengeese,  but  no  Huron.  What  can  this  mean  ?  " 

"  A  great  chief,  like  him,  has  more  thoughts  than  tongues.  He 
looks  to  see  that  no  enemies  are  on  his  trail." 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  229 

"  The  canoe  of  a  dead  warrior  will  not  float  on  the  Horican," 
returned  the  savage,  gloomily.  "  His  ears  are  open  to  the  Dela- 
wares,  who  are  not  our  friends,  and  they  fill  them  with  lies." 

"  It  cannot  be.  See  ;  he  has  bid  me,  who  am  a  man  that  knows 
the  art  of  healing,  to  go  to  his  children,  the  red  Hurons  of  the 
great  lakes,  and  ask  if  any  are  sick  !  " 

Another  silence  succeeded  this  annunciation  of  the  character 
Duncan  had  assumed.  Every  eye  was  simultaneously  bent  on  his 
person,  as  if  to  inquire  into  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the  declara 
tion,  with  an  intelligence  and  keenness  that  caused  the  subject  of 
their  scrutiny  to  tremble  for  the  result.  He  was,  however,  relieved 
again  by  the  former  speaker. 

"  Do  the  cunning  men  of  the  Canadas  paint  their  skins  ?  "  the 
Huron  coldly  continued ;  "we  have  heard  them  boast  that  their 
faces  were  pale." 

"  When  an  Indian  chief  comes  among  his  white  fathers," 
returned  Duncan,  with  great  steadiness,  "  he  lays  aside  his  buf 
falo  robe,  to  carry  the  shirt  that  is  offered  him.  My  brothers  have 
given  me  paint,  and  I  wear  it." 

A  low  murmur  of  applause  announced  that  the  compliment  to 
the  tribe  was  favorably  received.  The  elderly  chief  made  a  gesture 
of  commendation,  which  was  answered  by  most  of  his  companions, 
who  each  threw  forth  a  hand  and  uttered  a  brief  exclamation  of 
pleasure.  Duncan  began  to  breathe  more  freely,  believing  that 
the  weight  of  his  examination  was  past ;  and  as  he  had  already 
prepared  a  simple  and  probable  tale  to  support  his  pretended 
occupation,  his  hopes  of  ultimate  success  grew  brighter. 

After  a  silence  of  a  few  moments,  as  if  adjusting  his  thoughts, 
in  order  to  make  a  suitable  answer  to  the  declaration  their  guest 
had  just  given,  another  warrior  arose,  and  placed  himself  in  an 
attitude  to  speak.  While  his  lips  were  yet  in  the  act  of  parting,  a 
low  but  fearful  sound  arose  from  the  forest,  and  was  immediately 
succeeded  by  a  high,  shrill  yell,  that  was  drawn  out,  until  it  equalled 
the  longest  and  most  plaintive  howl  of  the  wolf.  The  sudden  and 
terrible  interruption  caused  Duncan  to  start  from  his  seat,  uncon 
scious  of  everything  but  the  effect  produced  by  so  frightful  a  cry. 
At  the  same  moment,  the  warriors  glided  in  a  body  from  the 


230        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

lodge,  and  the  outer  air  was  filled  with  loud  shouts,  that  nearly 
drowned  those  awful  sounds,  which  were  still  ringing  beneath  the 
arches  of  the  woods.  Unable  to  command  himself  any  longer, 
the  youth  broke  from  the  place,  and  presently  stood  in  the  centre 
of  a  disorderly  throng,  that  included  nearly  everything  having  life, 
within  the  limits  of  the  encampment.  Men,  women,  and  children  ; 
the  aged,  the  infirm,  the  active,  and  the  strong,  were  alike  abroad, 
some  exclaiming  aloud,  others  clapping  their  hands  with  a  joy  that 
seemed  frantic,  and  all  expressing  their  savage  pleasure  in  some 
unexpected  event.  Though  astounded,  at  first,  by  the  uproar, 
Hey  ward  was  soon  enabled  to  find  its  solution  by  the  scene 
that  followed. 

There  yet  lingered  sufficient  light  in  the  heavens  to  exhibit 
those  bright  openings  among  the  tree-tops,  where  different  paths 
left  the  clearing  to  enter  the  depths  of  the  wilderness.  Beneath 
one  of  them,  a  line  of  warriors  issued  from  the  woods,  and  ad 
vanced  slowly  toward  the  dwellings.  One  in  front  bore  a  short 
pole,  on  which,  as  it  afterward  appeared,  was  suspended  several 
human  scalps.  The  startling  sounds  that  Duncan  had  heard,  were 
what  the  whites  have  not  inappropriately  called  the  "  death  hal 
loo  "  ;  and  each  repetition  of  the  cry  was  intended  to  announce 
to  the  tribe  the  fate  of  an  enemy.  Thus  far  the  knowledge  of 
Heyward  assisted  him  in  the  explanation ;  and  as  he  now  knew 
that  the  interruption  was  caused  by  the  unlooked-for  return  of  a 
successful  war-party,  every  disagreeable  sensation  was  quieted  in 
inward  congratulation,  for  the  opportune  relief  and  insignificance 
it  conferred  on  himself. 

When  at  the  distance  of  a  few  hundred  feet  from  the  lodges, 
the  newly  arrived  warriors  halted.  Their  plaintive  and  terrific  cry, 
which  was  intended  to  represent  equally  the  wailings  of  the  dead 
and  the  triumph  of  the  victors,  had  entirely  ceased.  One  of  their 
number  now  called  aloud,  in  words  that  were  far  from  appalling, 
though  not  more  intelligible  to  those  for  whose  ears  they  were 
intended,  than  their  expressive  yells.  It  would  be  difficult  to  con 
vey  a  suitable  idea  of  the  savage  ecstasy  with  which  the  news  thus 
imparted  was  received.  The  whole  encampment  in  a  moment  be 
came  a  scene  of  the  most  violent  bustle  and  commotion.  The 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  231 

warriors  drew  their  knives,  and  flourishing  them,  they  arranged 
themselves  in  two  lines,  forming  a  lane  that  extended  from  the 
war-party  to  the  lodges.  The  squaws  seized  clubs,  axes,  or  what 
ever  weapon  of  offence  first  offered  itself  to  their  hands,  and  rushed 
eagerly  to  act  their  part  in  the. cruel  game  that  was  at  hand.  Even 
the  children  would  not  be  excluded  ;  but  boys,  little  able  to  wield 
the  instruments,  tore  the  tomahawks  from  the  belts  of  their  fathers, 
and  stole  into  the  ranks,  apt  imitators  of  the  savage  traits  exhibited 
by  their  parents. 

Large  piles  of  brush  lay  scattered  about  the  clearing,  and  a 
wary  and  aged  squaw  was  occupied  in  firing  as  many  as  might 
serve  to  light  the  coming  exhibition.  As  the  flame  arose,  its  power 
exceeded  that  of  the  parting  day,  and  assisted  to  render  objects  at 
the  same  time  more  distinct  and  more  hideous.  The  whole  scene 
formed  a  striking  picture,  whose  frame  was  composed  of  the  dark 
and  tall  border  of  pines.  The  warriors  just  arrived  were  the  most 
distant  figures.  A  little  in  advance  stood  two  men,  who  were  ap 
parently  selected  from  the  rest,  as  the  principal  actors  in  what  was 
to  follow.  The  light  was  not  strong  enough  to  render  their  features 
distinct,  though  it  was  quite  evident  that  they  were  governed  by 
very  different  emotions.  While  one  stood  erect  and  firm,  prepared 
to  meet  his  fate  like  a  hero,  the  other  bowed  his  head,  as  if  palsied 
by  terror  or  stricken  with  shame.  The  high-spirited  Duncan  felt 
a  powerful  impulse  of  admiration  and  pity  toward  the  former, 
though  no  opportunity  could  offer  to  exhibit  his  generous  emo 
tions.  He  watched  his  slightest  movement,  however,  with  eager 
eyes ;  and  as  he  traced  the  fine  outline  of  his  admirably  propor 
tioned  and  active  frame,  he  endeavored  to  persuade  himself  that 
if  the  powers  of  man,  seconded  by  such  noble  resolution,  could 
bear  one  harmless  through  so  severe  a  trial,  the  youthful  captive 
before  him  might  hope  for  success  in  the  hazardous  race  he  was 
about  to  run.  Insensibly  the  young  man  drew  nigher  to  the  swarthy 
lines  of  the  Hurons,  and  scarcely  breathed,  so  intense  became  his 
interest  in  the  spectacle.  Just  then  the  signal  yell  was  given,  and 
the  momentary  quiet  which  had  preceded  it  was  broken  by  a  burst 
of  cries,  that  far  exceeded  any  before  heard.  The  most  abject  of 
the  two  victims  continued  motionless  ;  but  the  other  bounded  from 


232        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  place  at  the  cry  with  the  activity  and  swiftness  of  a  deer. 
Instead  of  rushing  through  the  hostile  lines,  as  had  been  expected, 
he  just  entered  the  dangerous  defile,  and  before  time  was  given 
for  a  single  blow,  turned  short,  and  leaping  the  heads  of  a  row 
of  children,  he  gained  at  once  the  exterior  and  safer  side  of  the 
formidable  array.  The  artifice  was  answered  by  a  hundred  voices 
raised  in  imprecations  ;  and  the  whole  of  the  excited  multitude 
broke  from  their  order,  and  spread  themselves  about  the  place  in 
wild  confusion. 

A  dozen  blazing  piles  now  shed  their  lurid  brightness  on  the 
place,  which  resembled  some  unhallowed  and  supernatural  arena, 
in  which  malicious  demons  had  assembled  to  act  their  bloody  and 
lawless  rites.  The  forms  in  the  background  looked  like  unearthly 
beings,  gliding  before  the  eye,  and  cleaving  the  air  with  frantic 
and  unmeaning  gestures ;  while  the  savage  passions  of  such  as 
passed  the  flames,  were  rendered  fearfully  distinct  by  the  gleams 
that  shot  athwart  their  inflamed  visages. 

It  will  easily  be  understood,  that  amid  such  a  concourse  of 
vindictive  enemies,  no  breathing  time  was  allowed  the  fugitive. 
There  was  a  single  moment  when  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  have 
reached  the  forest,  but  the  whole  body  of  his  captors  threw  them 
selves  before  him,  and  drove  him  back  into  the  centre  of  his 
relentless  persecutors.  Turning  like  a  headed  deer,  he  shot,  with 
the  swiftness  of  an  arrow,  through  a  pillar  of  forked  flame,  and 
passing  the  whole  multitude  harmless,  he  appeared  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  clearing.  Here  too  he  was  met  and  turned  by  a  few 
of  the  older  and  more  subtle  of  the  Hurons.  Once  more  he  tried 
the  throng,  as  if  seeking  safety  in  its  blindness,  and  then  several 
moments  succeeded,  during  which  Duncan  believed  the  active 
and  courageous  young  stranger  was  lost. 

Nothing  could  be  distinguished  but  a  dark  mass  of  human  forms 
tossed  and  involved  in  inexplicable  confusion.  Arms,  gleaming 
knives,  and  formidable  clubs,  appeared  above  them,  but  the  blows 
were  evidently  given  at  random.  The  awful  effect  was  heightened 
by  the  piercing  shrieks  of  the  women  and  the  fierce  yells  of  the 
warriors.  Now  and  then  Duncan  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  light  form 
cleaving  the  air  in  some  desperate  bound,  and  he  rather  hoped 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  233 

than  believed  that  the  captive  yet  retained  the  command  of  his 
astonishing  powers  of  activity.  Suddenly  the  multitude  rolled 
backward,  and  approached  the  spot  where  he  himself  stood.  The 
heavy  body  in  the  rear  pressed  upon  the  women  and  children  in 
front,  and  bore  them  to  the  earth.  The  stranger  reappeared  in  the 
confusion.  Human  power  could  not,  however,  much  longer  endure 
so  severe  a  trial.  Of  this  the  captive  seemed  conscious.  Profiting 
by  the  momentary  opening,  he  darted  from  among  the  warriors, 
and  made  a  desperate,  and  what  seemed  to  Duncan  a  final  effort 
to  gain  the  wood.  As  if  aware  that  no  danger  was  to  be  appre 
hended  from  the  young  soldier,  the  fugitive  nearly  brushed  his 
person  in  his  flight.  A  tall  and  powerful  Huron,  who  had  hus 
banded  his  forces,  pressed  elose  upon  his  heels,  and  with  an  uplifted 
arm  menaced  a  fatal  blow.  Duncan  thrust  forth  a  foot,  and  the 
shock  precipitated  the  eager  savage  headlong,  many  feet  in  advance 
of  his  intended  victim.  Thought  itself  is  not  quicker  than  was 
the  motion  with  which  the  latter  profited  by  the  advantage  ;  he 
turned,  gleamed  like  a  meteor  again  before  the  eyes  of  Duncan, 
and  at  the  next  moment,  when  the  latter  recovered  his  recollection, 
and  gazed  around  in  quest  of  the  captive,  he  saw  him  quietly  lean 
ing  against  a  small  painted  post,  which  stood  before  the  door  of 
the  principal  lodge. 

Apprehensive  that  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the  escape  might 
prove  fatal  to  himself,  Duncan  left  the  place  without  delay.  He 
followed  the  crowd,  which  drew  nigh  the  lodges,  gloomy  and  sullen, 
like  any  other  multitude  that  had  been  disappointed  in  an  execu 
tion.  Curiosity,  or  perhaps  a  better  feeling,  induced  him  to  approach 
the  stranger.  He  found  him,  standing  with  one  arm  cast  about 
the  protecting  post,  and  breathing  thick  and  hard,  after  his  exer 
tions,  but  disdaining  to  permit  a  single  sign  of  suffering  to  escape. 
His  person  was  now  protected  by  immemorial  and  sacred  usage, 
until  the  tribe  in  council  had  deliberated  and  determined  on  his  fate. 
It  was  not  difficult,  however,  to  foretell  the  result,  if  any  presage 
could  be  drawn  from  the  feelings  of  those  who  crowded  the  place. 

There  was  no  term  of  abuse  known  to  the  Huron  vocabulary 
that  the  disappointed  women  did  not  lavishly  expend  on  the  suc 
cessful  stranger.  They  flouted  at  his  efforts,  and  told  him,  with 


234        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

bitter  scoffs,  that  his  feet  were  better  than  his  hands ;  and  that 
he  merited  wings,  while  he  knew  not  the  use  of  an  arrow  or  a 
knife.  To  all  this  the  captive  made  no  reply ;  but  was  content  to 
preserve  an  attitude  in  which  dignity  was  singularly  blended  with 
disdain.  Exasperated  as  much  by  his  composure  as  by  his  good- 
fortune,  their  words  became  unintelligible,  and  were  succeeded 
by  shrill,  piercing  yells.  Just  then  the  crafty  squaw,  who  had 
taken  the  necessary  precaution  to  fire  the  piles,  made  her  way 
through  the  throng,  and  cleared  a  place  for  herself  in  front  of  the 
captive.  The  squalid  and  withered  person  of  this  hag  might  well 
have  obtained  for  her  the  character  of  possessing  more  than  human 
cunning.  Throwing  back  her  light  vestment,  she  stretched  forth 
her  long  skinny  arm,  in  derision,  and»using  the  language  of  the 
Lenape,  as  more  intelligible  to  the  subject  of  her  gibes,  she 
commenced  aloud :  — 

"  Look  you,  Delaware,"  she  said,  snapping  her  fingers  in  his 
face ;  "  your  nation  is  a  race  of  women,  and  the  hoe  is  better  fitted 
to  your  hands  than  the  gun.  Your  squaws  are  the  mothers  of  deer ; 
but  if  a  bear,  or  a  wild-cat  or  a  serpent  were  born  among  you,  ye 
would  flee.  The  Huron  girls  shall  make  you  petticoats,  and  we 
will  find  you  a  husband." 

A  burst  of  savage  laughter  succeeded  this  attack,  during  which 
the  soft  and  musical  merriment  of  the  younger  females  strangely 
chimed  with  the  cracked  voice  of  their  older  and  more  malignant 
companion.  But  the  stranger  was  superior  to  all  their  efforts.  His 
head  was  immovable  ;  nor  did  he  betray  the  slightest  consciousness 
that  any  were  present,  except  when  his  haughty  eye  rolled  toward 
the  dusky  forms  of  the  warriors,  who  stalked  in  the  background, 
silent  and  sullen  observers  of  the  scene. 

Infuriated  at  the  self-command  of  the  captive,  the  woman  placed 
her  arms  akimbo ;  and  throwing  herself  into  a  posture  of  defiance, 
she  broke  out  anew,  in  a  torrent  of  words  that  no  art  of  ours  could 
commit  successfully  to  paper.  Her  breath  was,  however,  expended 
in  vain ;  for  although  distinguished  in  her  nation  as  a  proficient 
in  the  art  of  abuse,  she  was  permitted  to  work  herself  into  such  a 
fury  as  actually  to  foam  at  the  mouth,  without  causing  a  muscle  to 
vibrate  in  the  motionless  figure  of  the  stranger.  The  effect  of  his 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  235 

indifference  began  to  extend  itself  to  the  other  spectators ;  and  a 
youngster,  who  was  just  quitting  the  condition  of  a  boy,  to  enter 
the  state  of  manhood,  attempted  to  assist  the  termagant,  by  flour 
ishing  his  tomahawk  before  their  victim,  and  adding  his  empty 
boasts  to  the  taunts  of  the  woman.  Then,  indeed,  the  captive 
turned  his  face  toward  the  light,  and  looked  down  on  the  stripling 
with  an  expression  that  was  superior  to  contempt.  At  the  next 
moment  he  resumed  his  quiet  and  reclining  attitude  against  the  post. 
But  the  change  of  posture  had  permitted  Duncan  to  exchange 
glances  with  the  firm  and  piercing  eyes  of  Uncas. 

Breathless  with  amazement,  and  heavily  oppressed  with  the  crit 
ical  situation  of  his  friend,  Hey  ward  recoiled  before  the  look,  trem 
bling  lest  its  meaning  might,  in  some  unknown  manner,  hasten 
the  prisoner's  fate.  There  was  not,  however,  any  instant  cause  for 
such  an  apprehension.  Just  then  a  warrior  forced  his  way  into 
the  exasperated  crowd.  Motioning  the  woman  and  children  aside 
with  a  stern  gesture,  he  took  Uncas  by  the  arm,  and  led  him 
toward  the  door  of  the  council  lodge.  Thither  all  the  chiefs,  and 
most  of  the  distinguished  warriors,  followed;  among  whom  the 
anxious  Hey  ward  found  means  to  enter  without  attracting  any 
dangerous  attention  to  himself. 

A  few  minutes  were  consumed  in  disposing  of  those  present  in 
a  manner  suitable  to  their  rank  and  influence  in  the  tribe.  An 
order  very  similar  to  that  adopted  in  the  preceding  interview  was 
observed ;  the  aged  and  superior  chiefs  occupying  the  area  of  the 
spacious  apartment,  within  the  powerful  light  of  a  glaring  torch, 
while  their  juniors  and  inferiors  were  arranged  in  the  background, 
presenting  a  dark  outline  of  swarthy  and  marked  visages.  In  the 
very  centre  of  the  lodge,  immediately  under  an  opening  that  ad 
mitted  the  twinkling  light  of  one  or  two  stars,  stood  Uncas,  calm, 
elevated,  and  collected.  His  high  and  haughty  carriage  was  not 
lost  on  his  captors,  who  often  bent  their  looks  on  his  person,  with 
eyes  which,  while  they  lost  none  of  their  inflexibility  of  purpose, 
plainly  betrayed  their  admiration  of  the  stranger's  daring. 

The  case  was  different  with  the  individual  whom  Duncan  had 
observed  to  stand  forth  with  his  friend,  previously  to  the  desper 
ate  trial  of  speed ;  and  who,  instead  of  joining  in  the  chase,  had 


236         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

remained,  throughout  its  turbulent  uproar,  like  a  cringing  statue, 
expressive  of  shame  and  disgrace.  Though  not  a  hand  had  been 
extended  to  greet  him,  nor  yet  an  eye  had  condescended  to  watch 
his  movements,  he  had  also  entered  the  lodge,  as  though  impelled 
by  a  fate  to  whose  decrees  he  submitted,  seemingly,  without  a 
struggle.  Heyward  profited  by  the  first  opportunity  to  gaze  in  his 
face,  secretly  apprehensive  he  might  find  the  features  of  another 
acquaintance  ;  but  they  proved  to  be  those  of  a  stranger,  and,  what 
was  still  more  inexplicable,  of  one  who  bore  all  the  distinctive 
marks  of  a  Huron  warrior.  Instead  of  mingling  with  his  tribe, 
however,  he  sat  apart,  a  solitary  being  in  a  multitude,  his  form 
shrinking  into  a  crouching  and  abject  attitude,  as  if  anxious  to  fill 
as  little  space  as  possible.  When  each  individual  had  taken  his 
proper  station,  and  silence  reigned  in  the  place,  the  gray-haired 
chief  already  introduced  to  the  reader  spoke  aloud,  in  the  language 
of  the  Lenni  Lenape. 

"Delaware,"  he  said,  "though  one  of  a  nation  of  women,  you 
have  proved  yourself  a  man.  I  would  give  you  food  ;  but  he  who 
eats  with  a  Huron  should  become  his  friend.  Rest  in  peace  till 
the  morning  sun,  when  our  last  words  shall  be  spoken." 

"  Seven  nights,  and  as  many  summer  days,  have  I  fasted  on 
the  trail  of  the  Hurons,"  Uncas  coldly  replied  ;  "  the  children 
of  the  Lenape  know  how  to  travel  the  path  of  the  just  without 
lingering  to  eat." 

"  Two  of  my  young  men  are  in  pursuit  of  your  companion," 
resumed  the  other,  without  appearing  to  regard  the  boast  of  his 
captive;  "when  they  get  back,  then  will  our  wise  men  say  to 
you,  -  - '  live  '  or  '  die.'  ' 

"Has  a  Huron  no  ears  ?  "  scornfully  exclaimed  Uncas  ;  "  twice, 
since  he  has  been  your  prisoner,  has  the  Delaware  heard  a  gun 
that  he  knows.  Your  young  men  will  never  come  back !  " 

A  short  and  sullen  pause  succeeded  this  bold  assertion.  Duncan, 
who  understood  the  Mohican  to  allude  to  the  fatal  rifle  of  the  scout, 
bent  forward  in  earnest  observation  of  the  effect  it  might  produce  on 
the  conquerors  ;  but  the  chief  was  content  with  simply  retorting :  — 

"  If  the  Lenape  are  so  skilful,  why  is  one  of  their  bravest 
warriors  here  ?  " 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  237 

"He  followed  in  the  steps  of  a  flying  coward,  and  fell 'into  a 
snare.  The  cunning  beaver  may  be  caught." 

As  Uncas  thus  replied,  he  pointed  with  his  finger  toward  the 
solitary  Huron,  but  without  deigning  to  bestow  any  other  notice 
on  so  unworthy  an  object.  The  words  of  the  answer  and  the  air 
of  the  speaker  produced  a  strong  sensation  among  his  auditors. 
Every  eye  rolled  sullenly  toward  the  individual  indicated  by  the 
simple  gesture,  and  a  low,  threatening  murmur  passed  through 
the  crowd.  The  ominous  sounds  reached  the  outer  door,  and  the 
women  and  children  pressing  into  the  throng,  no  gap  had  been 
left,  between  shoulder  and  shoulder,  that  was  not  now  filled  with 
the  dark  lineaments  of  some  eager  and  curious  human  countenance. 

In  the  meantime,  the  more  aged  chiefs,  in  the  centre,  communed 
with  each  other  in  short  and  broken  sentences.  Not  a  word  was 
uttered  that  did  not  convey  the  meaning  of  the  speaker,  in  the  sim 
plest  and  most  energetic  form.  Again,  a  long  and  deeply  solemn 
pause  took  place.  It  was  known,  by  all  present,  to  be  the  grave 
precursor  of  a  weighty  and  important  judgment.  They  who  com 
posed  the  outer  circle  of  faces  were  on  tiptoe  to  gaze  ;  and  even 
the  culprit  for  an  instant  forgot  his  shame  in  a  deeper  emotion, 
and  exposed  his  abject  features,  in  order  to  cast  an  anxious  and 
troubled  glance  at  the  dark  assemblage  of  chiefs.  The  silence  was 
finally  broken  by  the  aged  warrior  so  often  named.  He  arose 
from  the  earth,  and  moving  past  the  immovable  form  of  Uncas, 
placed  himself  in  a  dignified  attitude  before  the  offender.  At  that 
moment,  the  withered  squaw  already  mentioned  moved  into  the 
circle,  in  a  slow,  sidling  sort  of  a  dance,  holding  the  torch,  and 
muttering  the  indistinct  words  of  what  might  have  been  a  species 
of  incantation.  Though  her  presence  was  altogether  an  intrusion, 
it  was  unheeded. 

Approaching  Uncas,  she  held  the  blazing  brand  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  cast  its  red  glare  ©n  his  person,  and  to  expose  the 
slightest  emotion  of  his  countenance.  The  Mohican  maintained 
his  firm  and  haughty  attitude ;  and  his  eye  so  far  from  deigning 
to  meet  her  inquisitive  look,  dwelt  steadily  on  the  distance,  as 
though  it  penetrated  the  obstacles  which  impeded  the  view  and 
looked  into  futurity.  Satisfied  with  her  examination,  she  left  him, 


238         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

with  a  slight  expression  of  pleasure,  and  proceeded  to  practise  the 
same  trying  experiment  on  her  delinquent  countryman. 

The  young  Huron  was  in  his  war  paint,  and  very  little  of  a  finely 
moulded  form  was  concealed  by  his  attire.  The  light  rendered 
every  limb  and  joint  discernible,  and  Duncan  turned  away  in 
horror  when  he  saw  they  were  writhing  in  irrepressible  agony. 
The  woman  was  commencing  a  low  and  plaintive  howl  at  the  sad 
and  shameful  spectacle,  when  the  chief  put  forth  his  hand  and 
gently  pushed  her  aside. 

"  Reed-that-bends,"  he  said,  addressing  the  young  culprit  by 
name,  and  in  his  proper  language,  "  though  the  Great  Spirit  has 
made  you  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  it  would  have  been  better  that  you 
had  not  been  born.  Your  tongue  is  loud  in  the  village,  but  in 
battle  it  is  still.  None  of  my  young  men  strike  the  tomahawk 
deeper  into  the  war-post  —  none  of  them  so  lightly  on  the  Yen- 
geese.  The  enemy  know  the  shape  of  your  back,  but  they  have 
never  seen  the  color  of  your  eyes.  Three  times  have  they  called 
on  you  to  come,  and  as  often  did  you  forget  to  answer.  Your 
name  will  never  be  mentioned  again  in  your  tribe  —  it  is  already 
forgotten." 

As  the  chief  slowly  uttered  these  words,  pausing  impressively 
between  each  sentence,  the  culprit  raised  his  face,  in  deference  to 
the  other's  rank  and  years.  Shame,  horror,  and  pride  struggled 
in  its  lineaments.  His  eye,  which  was  contracted  with  inward 
anguish,  gleamed  on  the  persons  of  those  whose  breath  was  his 
fame ;  and  the  latter  emotion  for  an  instant  predominated.  He 
arose  to  his  feet,  and  baring  his  bosom,  looked  steadily  on  the 
keen,  glittering  knife,  that  was  already  upheld  by  his  inexorable 
judge.  As  the  weapon  passed  slowly  into  his  heart  he  even  smiled, 
as  if  in  joy  at  having  found  death  less  dreadful  than  he  had  antici 
pated,  and  fell  heavily  on  his  face,  at  the  feet  of  the  rigid  and 
unyielding  form  of  Uncas. 

The  squaw  gave  a  loud  and  plaintive  yell,  dashed  the  torch  to 
the  earth,  and  buried  everything  in  darkness.  The  whole  shudder 
ing  group  of  spectators  glided  from  the  lodge  like  troubled  sprites ; 
and  Duncan  thought  that  he  and  the  yet  throbbing  body  of  the 
victim  of  an  Indian  judgment  had  now  become  its  only  tenants. 


EAKLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  239 


WILLIAM   CULLEN  BRYANT 

[Born  at  Cummington,  Massachusetts,  November  3,  1794;  died  at  New  York 
City,  June  12,  1878] 

THANATOPSIS 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language  ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.    When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  the  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart ;  — 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
Comes  a  still  voice  —  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course  ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.    Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements, 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.    The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 


240        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.    Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world  —  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth  —  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.    The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun,  —  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 
The  venerable  woods  —  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green  ;  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste,  — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.    The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.    All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.  —  Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 
Save  his  own  dashings  —  yet  the  dead  are  there  : 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 
So  shalt  thou  rest,  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?    All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.    The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom  ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.    As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  241 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 
The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 
By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


TO  A  WATERFOWL 

Whither,  midst  falling  dew, 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day. 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way  ? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong. 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean-side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air  — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 


242         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows  ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou  'it  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form  ;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 


TO  THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN 

Thou  blossom  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night, 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 
O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 
Or  columbines,  in  purple  dressed, 
Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late  and  com'st  alone, 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frost  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  year  is  near  his  end. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  243 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue  —  blue  —  as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  year, 

Of  wailing  winds    and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and 

sere. 

Heaped  in  the  hollows  of  the  grove,  the  autumn  leaves  lie  dead ; 
They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread ; 
The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the  shrubs  the  jay, 
And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the  gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  lately  sprang 

and  stood 

In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas !  they  all  are  in  their  graves,  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of  ours. 
The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but  the  cold  November  rain 
Calls  not  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely  ones  again. 

The  wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago, 
And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the  summer  glow ; 
But  on  the  hills  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in  the  wood, 
And  the  yellow  sun-flower  by  the  brook  in  autumn  beauty  stood, 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the  plague 

on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from  upland,  glade, 

and  glen. 


244        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  now,  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still  such  days  will 

come, 

To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter  home ; 
When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the  trees 

are  still, 

And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill, 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance  late  he 

bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream  no  more. 

And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty  died, 
The  fair  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my  side. 
In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the  forests  cast  the  leaf, 
And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  have  a  life  so  brief : 
Yet  not  unmeet  it  was  that  one,  like  that  young  friend  of  ours, 
So  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  should  perish  with  the  flowers. 

O  FAIREST  OF  THE  RURAL  MAIDS 

O  fairest  of  the  rural  maids ! 
Thy  birth  was  in  the  forest  shades ; 
Green  boughs,  and  glimpses  of  the  sky, 
Were  all  that  met  thine  infant  eye. 

Thy  sports,  thy  wanderings,  when  a  child, 
Were  ever  in  the  sylvan  wild  ; 
And  all  the  beauty  of  the  place 
Is  in  thy  heart  and  on  thy  face. 

The  twilight  of  the  trees  and  rocks 
Is  in  the  light  shade  of  thy  locks ; 
Thy  step  is  as  the  wind,  that  weaves 
Its  playful  way  among  the  leaves. 

Thine  eyes  are  springs,  in  whose  serene 
And  silent  waters  heaven  is  seen ; 
Their  lashes  are  the  herbs  that  look 
On  their  young  figures  in  the  brook. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  245 

The  forest  depths,  by  foot  unpressed, 
Are  not  more  sinless  than  thy  breast ; 
The  holy  peace,  that  fills  the  air 
Of  those  calm  solitudes,  is  there. 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN 

Our  band  is  few  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree  : 
We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 

Woe  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear : 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again ; 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 
From  danger  and  from  toil : 

We  talk  the  battle  over, 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 


246        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads  — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'T  is  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain  ; 
'T  is  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  the  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp  — 

A  moment  —  and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs ; 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band 

With  kindliest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton, 

Forever,  from  our  shore. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  247 

THE  YELLOW  VIOLET 

When  beechen  buds  begin  to  swell, 

And  woods  the  bluebird's  warble  know, 

The  yellow  violet's  modest  bell 

Peeps  from  the  last  year's  leaves  below. 

Ere  russet  fields  their  green  resume, 

Sweet  flower,  I  love,  in  forest  bare, 
To  meet  thee,  when  thy  faint  perfume 

Alone  is  in  the  virgin  air. 

Of  all  her  train,  the  hands  of  Spring 

First  plant  thee  in  the  watery  mould, 
And  I  have  seen  thee  blossoming 

Beside  the  snow-bank's  edges  cold. 

Thy  parent  sun,  who  bade  thee  view 

Pale  skies,  and  chilling  moisture  sip, 
Has  bathed  thee  in  his  own  bright  hue, 

And  streaked  with  jet  thy  glowing  lip. 

Yet  slight  thy  form,  and  low  thy  seat, 

And  earthward  bent  thy  gentle  eye, 
Unapt  the  passing  view  to  meet, 

When  loftier  flowers  are  flaunting  nigh. 

Oft,  in  the  sunless  April  day, 

Thy  early  smile  has  stayed  my  walk ; 
But  midst  the  gorgeous  blooms  of  May, 

I  passed  thee  on  thy  humble  stalk. 

So  they,  who  climb  to  wealth,  forget 

The  friends  in  darker  fortunes  tried. 
I  copied  them  —  but  I  regret 

That  I  should  ape  the  ways  of  pride. 


248        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  when  again  the  genial  hour 
Awakes  the  painted  tribes  of  light, 

I  '11  not  o'erlook  the  modest  flower 
That  made  the  woods  of  April  bright. 

THE  DEATH  OF  LINCOLN 

Oh,  slow  to  smite  and  swift  to  spare, 
Gentle  and  merciful  and  just ! 

Who,  in  the  fear  of  God,  didst  bear 
The  sword  of  power,  a  nation's  trust ! 

In  sorrow  by  thy  bier  we  stand, 
Amid  the  awe  that  hushes  all, 

And  speak  the  anguish  of  a  land 
That  shook  with  horror  at  thy  fall. 

Thy  task  is  done  ;  the  bond  are  free  : 
We  bear  thee  to  an  honored  grave, 

Whose  proudest  monument  shall  be 
The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave. 

Pure  was  thy  life  ;  its  bloody  close 

Hath  placed  thee  with  the  sons  of  light, 

Among  the  noble  host  of  those 

Who  perished  in  the  cause  of  Right. 

ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name ; 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  249 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  drest, 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding-coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine, 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Brood,  kind  creature  ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she ; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man  ; 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can ! 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay, 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight ! 
There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 


250        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 

Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 
Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood. 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes  ;  the  children  are  grown  ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  's  a  humdrum  crone ; 
Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  251 

THE   PLANTING   OF  THE  APPLE-TREE 

Come,  let  us  plant  the  apple-tree. 
Cleave  the  tough  greensward  with  the  spade ; 
Wide  let  its  hollow  bed  be  made ; 
There  gently  lay  the  roots,  and  there 
Sift  the  dark  mould  with  kindly  care, 

And  press  it  o'er  them  tenderly, 
As,  round  the  sleeping  infant's  feet, 
We  softly  fold  the  cradle-sheet ; 

So  plant  we  the  apple-tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Buds,  which  the  breath  of  summer  days 
Shall  lengthen  into  leafy  sprays ; 
Boughs  where  the  thrush,  with  crimson  breast, 
Shall  haunt  and  sing  and  hide  her  nest ; 

We  plant,  upon  the  sunny  lea, 
A  shadow  for  the  noontide  hour, 
A  shelter  from  the  summer  shower, 

When  we  plant  the  apple-tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Sweets  for  a  hundred  flowery  springs 
To  load  the  May-wind's  restless  wings, 
When,  from  the  orchard-row,  he  pours 
Its  fragrance  through  our  open  doors ; 

A  world  of  blossoms  for  the  bee, 
Flowers  for  the  sick  girl's  silent  room, 
For  the  glad  infant  sprigs  of  bloom, 

We  plant  with  the  apple-tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Fruits  that  shall  swell  in  sunny  June, 
And  redden  in  the  August  noon, 
And  drop,  when  gentle  airs  come  by, 
That  fan  the  blue  September  sky, 


252         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

While  children  come,  with  cries  of  glee, 
And  seek  them  where  the  fragrant  grass 
Betrays  their  bed  to  those  who  pass, 

At  the  foot  of  the  apple-tree. 

And  when,  above  this  apple-tree, 
The  winter  stars  are  quivering  bright, 
And  winds  go  howling  through  the  night, 
Girls,  whose  young  eyes  o'erflow  with  mirth, 
Shall  peel  its  fruit  by  cottage-hearth, 

And  guests  in  prouder  homes  shall  see, 
Heaped  with  the  grape  of  Cintra's  vine 
And  golden  orange  of  the  line, 

The  fruit  of  the  apple-tree. 

The  fruitage  of  this  apple-tree 
Winds  and  our  flag  of  stripe  and  star 
Shall  bear  to  coasts  that  lie  afar, 
Where  men  shall  wonder  at  the  view, 
And  ask  in  what  fair  groves  they  grew ; 

And  sojourners  beyond  the  sea 
Shall  think  of  childhood's  careless  day, 
And  long,  long  hours  of  summer  play, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree. 

Each  year  shall  give  this  apple-tree 
A  broader  flush  of  roseate  bloom, 
A  deeper  maze  of  verdurous  gloom, 
And  loosen,  when  the  frost-clouds  lower, 
The  crisp  brown  leaves  in  thicker  shower. 

The  years  shall  come  and  pass,  but  we 
Shall  hear  no  longer,  where  we  lie, 
The  summer's  songs,  the  autumn's  sigh, 

In  the  boughs  of  the  apple-tree. 

And  time  shall  waste  this  apple-tree. 
Oh,  when  its  aged  branches  throw 
Thin  shadows  on  the  ground  below, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  253 

Shall  fraud  and  force  and  iron  will 
Oppress  the  weak  and  helpless  still  ? 

What  shall  the  tasks  of  mercy  be, 
Amid  the  toils,  the  strifes,  the  tears 
Of  those  who  live  when  length  of  years 

Is  wasting  this  little  apple-tree  ? 

"  Who  planted  this  old  apple-tree  ?  " 
The  children  of  that  distant  day 
Thus  to  some  aged  man  shall  say ; 
And,  gazing  on  its  mossy  stem, 
The  gray-haired  man  shall  answer  them  : 

"  A  poet  of  the  land  was  he, 
Born  in  the  rude  but  good  old  times ; 
'T  is  said  he  made  some  quaint  old  rhymes, 

On  planting  the  apple-tree." 

THE  MAY   SUN   SHEDS  AN  AMBER   LIGHT 

The  May  sun  sheds  an  amber  light 
On  new-leaved  woods  and  lawns  between  ; 
But  she,  who  with  a  smile  more  bright, 
Welcomed  and  watched  the  springing  green, 

Is  in  her  grave, 

Low  in  her  grave. 

The  fair  white  blossoms  of  the  wood 
In  groups  beside  the  pathway  stand  ; 
But  one,  the  gentle  and  the  good, 
Who  cropped  them  with  a  fairer  hand, 

Is  in  her  grave, 

Low  in  her  grave. 

Upon  the  woodland's  morning  airs 
The  small  birds'  mingled  notes  are  flung ; 
But  she,  whose  voice,  more  sweet  than  theirs, 
Once  bade  me  listen  while  they  sung, 

Is  in  her  grave, 

Low  in  her  grave. 


254        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

That  music  of  the  early  year 
Brings  tears  of  anguish  to  my  eyes ; 
My  heart  aches  when  the  flowers  appear ; 
For  then  I  think  of  her  who  lies 

Within  her  grave, 

Low  in  her  grave. 


EDGAR  ALLAN   POE 
[Born  at  Boston,  January  19,  1809;  died  at  Baltimore,  October  7,  1849] 

THE   RAVEN 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore,  — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
1  'T  is  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my  chamber  door  : 
Only  this  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow ;  —  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow  —  sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore, 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  named  Lenore ;— 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrilled  me  —  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before  ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating 
'  'T  is  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door,  — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door ;  — 
This  it  is  and  nothing  more." 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger  ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  "or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore ; 
But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  255 

That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  "  —  here  I  opened  wide  the 
door ; — 

Darkness  there  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there  wondering, 

fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortals  ever  dared  to  dream  before  ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 
And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word, "  Lenore  ? " 
This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word,  "  Lenore ! " 
Merely  this  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  somewhat  louder  than  before. 
"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window  lattice  ; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  explore  — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery  explore ;  — 
'T  is  the  wind  and  nothing  more." 

Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 

In  there  stepped  a  stately  Raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he  ;  not  a  minute  stopped  or  stayed 

he; 

But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door,  — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door : 
Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore,  — 

"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "  art  sure 

no  craven, 
Ghastly  grim  and  ancient   Raven  wandering  from  the  Nightly 

shore  : 

Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore !  " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning  —  little  relevancy  bore  ; 


256         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door,  — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door, 
With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 

But  the  Raven,  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour, 
Nothing  further  then  he  uttered,  not  a  feather  then  he  fluttered, 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  -    "  Other  friends  have  flown 

before  ; 

On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  Hopes  have  flown  before." 
Then  the  bird  said,  "  Nevermore." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master  whom  unmerciful  Disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore : 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  Hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore 
Of  *  Never  —  nevermore.' ' 

But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  fancy  into  smiling, 

Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird  and  bust  and 

door ; 

Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore, 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 
Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore." 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er 
She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore ! 

Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen 

censer 
Swung  by  seraphim  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  257 

"  Wretch,"  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee  —  by  these  angels  he 

hath  sent  thee 

Respite  —  respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore !  " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

"  Prophet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil !  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
Whether  Tempter  sent,   or  whether  tempest   tossed  thee    here 

ashore, 

Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted  — 
On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted  —  tell  me  truly,  I  implore  : 
Is   there  —  is   there    balm    in    Gilead  ?  —  tell    me  —  tell    me,    I 

implore !  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

"  Prophet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil  —  prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  Heaven  that  bends  above  us,  by  that  God  we  both  adore, 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the  distant  Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  : 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  !  " 
Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

"  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend !  "  I  shrieked, 

upstarting : 

"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plutonian  shore  ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken  !  quit  the  bust  above  my  door  ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my 

door !  " 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore." 

And  the  Raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 

On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door ; 

And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming. 

And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the 

floor : 

And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 
Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore  ! 


258         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

ANNABEL  LEE 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  there  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee  ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 

I  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love, 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee  ; 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  ; 
So  that  her  highborn  kinsman  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me, 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulcher 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  half  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me ; 
Yes !  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night, 

Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we, 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we  ; 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  : 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  259 

For  the  moon  never  beams,  without  bringing  me  dreams 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darling  —  my  darling  —  my  life  and  my  bride, 

In  her  sepulcher  there  by  the  sea, 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 


THE  HAUNTED  PALACE 

In  the  greenest  of  our  valleys 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace  — 

Radiant  palace  —  reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion, 

It  stood  there ; 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair. 

Banners  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 

On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow 
(This  —  all  this  —  was  in  the  olden 

Time  long  ago), 
And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odor  went  away. 

Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley 

Through  two  luminous  windows  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically, 

To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law, 
Round  about  a  throne  where,  sitting, 

(Porphyrogene !) 
In  state  his  glory  well  befitting, 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 


260        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

Was  the  fair  palace  door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flowing, 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  Echoes,  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing, 
In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate ; 
(Ah,  let  us  mourn,  for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him  desolate  !) 
And  round  about  his  home  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed, 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 

And  travelers,  now,  within  that  valley, 

Through  the  red-litten  windows  see 
Vast  forms,  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody  ; 
While,  like  a  ghastly  rapid  river, 

Through  the  pale  door 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  forever, 

And  laugh  —  but  smile  no  more. 


THE  BELLS 

Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bells, 

Silver  bells  ! 

What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells ! 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars,  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens,  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight ; 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  261 

Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells  - 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

Hear  the  mellow  wedding  bells, 

Golden  bells ! 

What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  foretells  ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight ! 
From  the  molten-golden  notes, 

And  all  in  tune, 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 

On  the  moon ! 

Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells, 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells  ! 
How  it  swells ! 
How  it  dwells 

On  the  Future  !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells - 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells ! 

Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells  — 

Brazen  bells  ! 

What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells  ! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright ! 
Too  much  horrified  to  speak, 
They  can  only  shriek,  shriek, 
Out  of  tune, 


262        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire, 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic  fire, 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire, 
And  a  resolute  endeavor 
Now  —  now  to  sit  or  never, 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells ! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 

Of  Despair ! 

How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar ! 
What  a  horror  they  outpour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air ! 
Yet  the  ear  it  fully  knows, 
By  the  twanging, 
And  the  clanging, 
How  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows ; 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells, 
In  the  jangling, 
And  the  wrangling, 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells, 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of  the  bells  - 

Of  the  bells  — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells  - 
In  the  clamor  and  the  clangor  of  the  bells ! 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells  — 

Iron  bells ! 

What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody  compels ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 
Is  a  groan. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  263 

And  the  people  —  ah,  the  people  — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone, 
And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone  — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman  — 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  human  — 

They  are  Ghouls  : 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls ; 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

Rolls 

A  paean  from  the  bells  ! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 

With  the  paean  of  the  bells !  . 
And  he  dances,  and  he  yells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  paean  of  the  bells  — 

Of  the  bells  : 

Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells  — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells  — 

To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells  ; 
Keeping,  time,  time,  time, 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 
In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  rolling  of  the  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells  : 

To  the  tolling  of  the  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells  - 
To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. 


264        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

TO  HELEN 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 

Like  those  Nicean  barks  of  yore. 

That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea, 
The  weary,  wayworn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 

Thy  Naiad  airs  have  brought  me  home 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 

And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Lo  !  in  yon  brilliant  window  niche 
How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand, 
The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand ! 

Ah,  Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 
Are  Holy-Land ! 


TO  ONE  IN  PARADISE 

Thou  wast  all  that  to  me,  love, 
For  which  my  soul  did  pine  — 

A  green  isle  in  the  sea,  love, 
A  fountain  and  a  shrine, 

All  wreathed  with  fairy  fruits  and  flowers, 
And  all  the  flowers  were  mine. 

Ah,  dream  too  bright  to  last ! 

Ah,  starry  Hope  !  that  didst  arise 
But  to  be  overcast ! 

A  voice  from  out  the  Future  cries, 
"  On  !  on  !  "  —  but  o'er  the  Past 

(Dim  gulf !)  my  spirit  hovering  lies 
Mute,  motionless,  aghast ! 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  265 

For,  alas  !  alas  !  with  me 

The  light  of  Life  is  o'er ! 
"  No  more  —  no  more  —  no  more  —  " 
(Such  language  holds  the  solemn  sea 

To  the  sands  upon  the  shore) 
Shall  bloom  the  thunder-blasted  tree, 

Or  the  stricken  eagle  soar ! 

And  all  my  days  are  trances, 

And  all  my  nightly  dreams 
Are  where  thy  dark  eye  glances, 

And  where  thy  footstep  gleams  — 
In  what  ethereal  dances, 

By  what  eternal  streams. 

ISRAFEL 

In  Heaven  a  spirit  doth  dwell 

"  Whose  heart-strings  are  a  lute  ;  " 
None  sing  so  wildly  well 
As  the  angel  Israfel, 
And  the  giddy  stars  (so  legends  tell), 
Ceasing  their  hymns,  attend  the  spell 

Of  his  voice,  all  mute. 

Tottering  above 

In  her  highest  noon, 

The  enamored  moon 
Blushes  with  love, 

While,  to  listen,  the  red  levin 

(With  the  rapid  Pleiads,  even, 

Which  were  seven), 

Pauses  in  heaven. 

And  they  say  (the  starry  choir 

And  the  other  listening  things) 
That  Israfeli's  fire 
Is  owing  to  that  lyre 


266        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

By  which  he  sits  and  sings,  — 
The  trembling  living  wire 
Of  those  unusual  strings. 

But  the  skies  that  angel  trod, 
Where  deep  thoughts  are  a  duty, 

Where  Love  's  a  grown-up  God, 

Where  the  Houri  glances  are 
Imbued  with  all  the  beauty 

Which  we  worship  in  a  star. 

Therefore  thou  art  not  wrong, 

Israfeli,  who  despisest 
An  unimpassioned  song  ; 
To  thee  the  laurels  belong, 

Best  bard,  because  the  wisest : 
Merrily  live,  and  long  ! 

The  ecstasies  above 

With  thy  burning  measures  suit : 

Thy  grief,  thy  joy,  thy  hate,  thy  love, 
With  the  fervor  of  thy  lute  : 
Well  may  the  stars  be  mute ! 

Yes,  Heaven  is  thine  ;  but  this 
Is  a  world  of  sweets  and  sours  ; 
Our  flowers  are  merely  —  flowers, 

And  the  shadow  of  thy  perfect  bliss 
Is  the  sunshine  of  ours. 

If  I  could  dwell 
Where  Israfel 

Hath  dwelt,  and  he  where  I, 
He  might  not  sing  so  wildly  well 

A  mortal  melody, 
While  a  bolder  note  than  this  might  swell 

From  my  lyre  within  the  sky. 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  267 

THE  COLISEUM 

Type  of  the  antique  Rome  !   Rich  reliquary 
Of  lofty  contemplation  left  to  Time 
By  buried  centuries  of  pomp  and  power ! 
At  length  —  at  length  —  after  so  many  days 
Of  weary  pilgrimage  and  burning  thirst, 
(Thirst  for  the  springs  of  lore  that  in  thee  lie) 
I  kneel,  an  altered  and  an  humble  man, 
Amid  thy  shadows,  and  so  drink  within 
My  very  soul  thy  grandeur,  gloom,  and  glory ! 

Vastness  !  and  Age  !  and  Memories  of  Eld  ! 
Silence  !  and  Desolation  !  and  Dim  Night ! 
I  feel  thee  now  —  I  feel  ye  in  your  strength  — 
O  spells  more  sure  than  e'er  Judaean  king 
Taught  in  the  gardens  of  Gethsemane ! 
O  charms  more  potent  than  the  rapt  Chaldees 
Ever  drew  down  from  out  the  quiet  stars  ! 

Here,  where  a  hero  fell,  a  column  falls  ! 

Here  where  the  mimic  eagle  glared  in  gold, 

A  midnight  vigil  holds  the  swarthy  bat ! 

Here,  where  the  dames  of  Rome  their  gilded  hair 

Waved  to  the  wind,  now  wave  the  reed  and  thistle ! 

Here,  where  on  gilded  throne  the  monarch  lolled, 

Glides,  spectre-like,  unto  his  marble  home, 

Lit  by  the  wan  light  of  the  horned  moon, 

The  swift  and  silent  lizard  of  the  stones  ! 

But  stay  !  these  walls  —  these  ivy-clad  arcades  — 

These  mouldering  plinths  —  these  sad  and  blackened  shafts  — 

These  vague  entablatures  —  this  crumbling  frieze  — 

These  shattered  cornices  —  this  wreck  —  this  ruin  — 

These  stones  —  alas  !  these  gray  stones  —  are  they  all  — 

All  of  the  famed,  and  the  colossal  left 

By  the  corrosive  Hours  to  Fate  and  me  ? 


268        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Not  all  "  —  the  Echoes  answer  me  -   "  not  all ! 

Prophetic  sounds  and  loud,  arise  forever 

From  us,  and  from  all  Ruin,  unto  the  wise, 

As  melody  from  Memnon  to  the  Sun, 

We  rule  the  hearts  of  mightiest  men  —  we  rule 

With  a  despotic  sway  all  giant  minds. 

We  are  not  impotent  —  we  pallid  stones. 

Not  all  our  power  is  gone  —  not  all  our  fame  — 

Not  all  the  magic  of  our  high  renown  - 

Not  all  the  wonder  that  encircles  us  — 

Not  all  the  mysteries  that  in  us  lie  — 

Not  all  the  memories  that  hang  upon 

And  cling  around  about  us  as  a  garment, 

Clothing  us  in  a  robe  of  more  than  glory." 

THE  CONQUEROR  WORM 

Lo  !  't  is  a  gala  night 

Within  the  lonesome  latter  years  ! 
An  angel  throng,  bewinged,  bedight 

In  veils,  and  drowned  in  tears, 
Sits  in  a  theatre,  to  see 

A  play  of  hopes  and  fears, 
While  the  orchestra  breathes  fitfully 

The  music  of  the  spheres. 

Mimes,  in  the  form  of  God  on  high, 

Mutter  and  mumble  low, 
And  hither  and  thither  fly  - 

Mere  puppets  they,  who  come  and  go 
At  bidding  of  vast  formless  things 

That  shift  the  scenery  to  and  fro, 
Flapping  from  out  their  Condor  wings 

Invisible  Woe ! 

That  motley  drama  —  oh,  be  sure 

It  shall  not  be  forgot ! 
With  its  Phantom  chased  forevermore, 

By  a  crowd  that  seize  it  not, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  269 

Through  a  circle  that  ever  returneth  in 

To  the  self -same  spot, 
And  much  of  Madness,  and  more  of  Sin, 

And  Horror  the  soul  of  the  plot. 

But  see,  amid  the  mimic  rout 

A  crawling  shape  intrude  ! 
A  blood-red  thing  that  writhes  from  out 

The  scenic  solitude ! 
It  writhes  !  —  it  writhes  !  —  with  mortal  pangs 

The  mimes  become  its  food, 
And  the  angels  sob  at  vermin  fangs 

In  human  gore  imbued. 

Out  —  out  are  the  lights  —  out  all ! 

And,  over  each  quivering  form, 
The  curtain,  a  funeral  pall, 

Comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm, 
And  the  angels,  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling,  affirm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy,  "  Man," 

And  its  hero  the  Conqueror  Worm. 

THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  RED  DEATH 

The  "  Red  Death  "  had  long  devastated  the  country.  No  pesti 
lence  had  ever  been  so  fatal  or  so  hideous.  Blood  was  its  Avatar 
and  its  seal,  —  the  redness  and  the  horror  of  blood.  There  were 
sharp  pains,  and  sudden  dizziness,  and  then  profuse  bleeding  at 
the  pores,  with  dissolution.  The  scarlet  stains  upon  the  body,  and 
especially  upon  the  face,  of  the  victim  were  the  pest  ban  which 
shut  him  out  from  the  aid  and  from  the  sympathy  of  his  fellow- 
men.  And  the  whole  seizure,  progress,  and  termination  of  the 
disease  were  the  incidents  of  half  an  hour. 

But  the  Prince  Prospero  was  happy  and  dauntless  and  sagacious. 
When  his  dominions  were  half  depopulated,  he  summoned  to  his 
presence  a  thousand  hale  and  light-hearted  friends  from  among 
the  knights  and  dames  of  his  court,  and  with  these  retired  to  the 


2/0        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

deep  seclusion  of  one  of  his  castellated  abbeys.  This  was  an  ex 
tensive  and  magnificent  structure,  the  creation  of  the  prince's  own 
eccentric  yet  august  taste.  A  strong  and  lofty  wall  girdled  it  in. 
This  wall  had  gates  of  iron.  The  courtiers,  having  entered,  brought 
furnaces  and  massy  hammers  and  welded  the  bolts.  They  resolved 
to  leave  means  neither  of  ingress  nor  egress  to  the  sudden  impulses 
of  despair  or  of  frenzy  from  within.  The  abbey  was  amply  provi 
sioned.  With  such  precautions  the  courtiers  might  bid  defiance 
to  contagion.  The  external  world  could  take  care  of  itself.  In  the 
mean  time  it  was  folly  to  grieve  or  to  think.  The  prince  had  pro 
vided  all  the  appliances  of  pleasure.  There  were  buffoons,  there 
were  improvisatori,  there  were  ballet  dancers,  there  were  musicians, 
there  was  beauty,  there  was  wine.  All  these  and  security  were 
within.  Without  was  the  "  Red  Death." 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  fifth  or  sixth  month  of  his  seclusion, 
and  while  the  pestilence  raged  most  furiously  abroad,  that  the  Prince 
Prospero  entertained  his  thousand  friends  at  a  masked  ball  of  the 
most  unusual  magnificence. 

It  was  a  voluptuous  scene,  that  masquerade.  But  first  let  me 
tell  of  the  rooms  in  which  it  was  held.  There  were  seven,  —  an 
imperial  suite.  In  many  palaces,  however,  such  suites  form  a  long 
and  straight  vista,  while  the  folding  doors  slide  back  nearly  to  the 
walls  on  either  hand,  so  that  the  view  of  the  whole  extent  is  scarcely 
impeded.  Here  the  case  was  very  different,  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  prince's  love  of  the  bizarre.  The  apartments 
were  so  irregularly  disposed  that  the  vision  embraced  but  little  more 
than  one  at  a  time.  There  was  a  sharp  turn  at  every  twenty  or  thirty 
yards,  and  at  each  turn  a  novel  effect.  To  the  right  and  left,  in  the 
middle  of  each  wall,  a  tall  and  narrow  Gothic  window  looked  out 
upon  a  closed  corridor  which  pursued  the  windings  of  the  suite. 
These  windows  were  of  stained  glass,  whose  color  varied  in  accord 
ance  with  the  prevailing  hue  of  the  decorations  of  the  chamber  into 
which  it  opened.  That  at  the  eastern  extremity  was  hung,  for  ex 
ample,  in  blue,  and  vividly  blue  were  its  windows.  The  second 
chamber  was  purple  in  its  ornaments  and  tapestries,  and  here  the 
panes  were  purple.  The  third  was  green  throughout,  and  so  were 
the  casements.  The  fourth  was  furnished  and  lighted  with  orange, 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  271 

the  fifth  with  white,  the  sixth  with  violet.  The  seventh  apartment 
was  closely  shrouded  in  black  velvet  tapestries  that  hung  all  over 
the  ceiling  and  down  the  walls,  falling  in  heavy  folds  upon  a  carpet 
of  the  same  material  and  hue.  But,  in  this  chamber  only,  the  color 
of  the  windows  failed  to  correspond  with  the  decorations.  The  panes 
here  were  scarlet,  — a  deep  blood-color.  Now  in  no  one  of  the  seven 
apartments  was  there  any  lamp  or  candelabrum  amid  the  profusion 
of  golden  ornaments  that  lay  scattered  to  and  fro  or  depended  from 
the  roof.  There  was  no  light  of  any  kind  emanating  from  lamp  or 
candle  within  the  suite  of  chambers.  But  in  the  corridors  that  fol 
lowed  the  suite  there  stood,  opposite  to  each  window,  a  heavy  tripod, 
bearing  a  brazier  of  fire,  that  projected  its  rays  through  the  tinted 
glass  and  so  glaringly  illumined  the  room.  And  thus  were  produced 
a  multitude  of  gaudy  and  fantastic  appearances.  But  in  the  western 
or  black  chamber  the  effect  of  the  fire-light  that  streamed  upon  the 
dark  hangings  through  the  blood-tinted  panes  was  ghastly  in  the 
extreme,  and  produced  so  wild  a  look  upon  the  countenances  of 
those  who  entered  that  there  were  few  of  the  company  bold  enough 
to  set  foot  within  its  precincts  at  all. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  also,  that  there  stood  against  the  western 
wall  a  gigantic  clock  of  ebony.  Its  pendulum  swung  to  and  fro  with 
a  dull,  heavy,  monotonous  clang  ;  and,  when  the  minute-hand  made 
the  circuit  of  the  face,  and  the  hour  was  to  be  stricken,  there  came 
from  the  brazen  lungs  of  the  clock  a  sound  which  was  clear  and 
loud  and  deep  and  exceedingly  musical,  but  of  so  peculiar  a  note 
and  emphasis  that,  at  each  lapse  of  an  hour,  the  musicians  of  the 
orchestra  were  constrained  to  pause,  momentarily,  in  their  perform 
ance,  to  hearken  to  the  sound ;  and  thus  the  waltzers  perforce 
ceased  their  evolutions ;  and  there  was  a  brief  disconcert  of  the 
whole  gay  company ;  and,  while  the  chimes  of  the  clock  yet  rang, 
it  was  observed  that  the  giddiest  grew  pale,  and  the  more  aged  and 
sedate  passed  their  hands  over  their  brows  as  if  in  confused  reverie 
or  meditation.  But  when  the  echoes  had  fully  ceased,  a  light  laughter 
at  once  pervaded  the  assembly  ;  the  musicians  looked  at  each  other 
and  smiled  as  if  at  their  own  nervousness  and  folly,  and  made  whis 
pering  vows,  each  to  the  other,  that  the  next  chiming  of  the  clock 
should  produce  in  them  no  similar  emotion ;  and  then,  after  the 


272         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

lapse  of  sixty  minutes  (which  embrace  three  thousand  and  six  hun 
dred  seconds  of  the  Time  that  flies),  there  came  yet  another  chiming 
of  the  clock,  and  then  were  the  same  disconcert  and  tremulousness 
and  meditation  as  before. 

But,  in  spite  of  these  things,  it  was  a  gay  and  magnificent  revel. 
The  tastes  of  the  prince  were  peculiar.  He  had  a  fine  eye  for  colors 
and  effects.  He  disregarded  the  decora  of  mere  fashion.  His  plans 
were  bold  and  fiery,  and  his  conceptions  glowed  with  barbaric  lustre. 
There  are  some  who  would  have  thought  him  mad.  His  followers 
felt  that  he  was  not.  It  was  necessary  to  hear  and  see  and  touch 
him  to  be  sure  that  he  was  not. 

He  had  directed,  in  great  part,  the  movable  embellishments  of 
the  seven  chambers,  upon  occasion  of  this  great  fete ;  and  it  was 
his  own  guiding  taste  which  had  given  character  to  the  masquer- 
aders.  Be  sure  they  were  grotesque.  There  were  much  glare  and 
glitter  and  piquancy  and  phantasm  —  much  of  what  has  been  since 
seen  in  Hernani.  There  were  arabesque  figures  with  unsuited 
limbs  and  appointments.  There  were  delirious  fancies  such  as  the 
madman  fashions.  There  was  much  of  the  beautiful,  much  of  the 
wanton,  much  of  the  bizarre,  something  of  the  terrible,  and  not  a 
little  of  that  which  might  have  excited  disgust.  To  and  fro  in  the 
seven  chambers  there  stalked,  in  fact,  a  multitude  of  dreams.  And 
these  —  the  dreams  —  writhed  in  and  about,  taking  hue  from  the 
rooms,  and  causing  the  wild  music  of  the  orchestra  to  seem  as 
the  echo  of  their  steps.  And,  anon,  there  strikes  the  ebony  clock 
which  stands  in  the  hall  of  the  velvet.  And  then,  for  a  moment, 
all  is  still,  and  all  is  silent  save  the  voice  of  the  clock.  The  dreams 
are  stiff-frozen  as  they  stand.  But  the  echoes  of  the  chime  die 
away,  —  they  have  endured  but  an  instant,  —  and  a  light,  half -sub 
dued  laughter  floats  after  them  as  they  depart.  And  now  again  the 
music  swells,  and  the  dreams  live,  and  writhe  to  and  fro  more  mer 
rily  than  ever,  taking  hue  from  the  many  tinted  windows  through 
which  stream  the  rays  from  the  tripods.  But  to  the  chamber  which 
lies  most  westwardly  of  the  seven  there  are  now  none  of  the  mask 
ers  who  venture :  for  the  night  is  waning  away,  and  there  flows  a 
ruddier  light  through  the  blood-colored  panes ;  and  the  blackness  of 
the  sable  drapery  appalls ;  and,  to  him  whose  foot  falls  upon  the 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  273 

sable  carpet,  there  comes  from  the  near  clock  of  ebony  a  muffled 
peal  more  solemnly  emphatic  than  any  which  reaches  their  ears  who 
indulge  in  the  more  remote  gayeties  of  the  other  apartments. 

But  these  other  apartments  were  densely  crowded,  and  in  them 
beat  feverishly  the  heart  of  life.  And  the  revel  went  whirlingly  on, 
until  at  length  there  commenced  the  sounding  of  midnight  upon 
the  clock.  And  then  the  music  ceased,  as  I  have  told  ;  and  the 
evolutions  of  the  waltzers  were  quieted  ;  and  there  was  an  uneasy 
cessation  of  all  things  as  before.  But  now  there  were  twelve  strokes 
to  be  sounded  by  the  bell  of  the  clock  ;  and  thus  it  happened,  per 
haps,  that  more  of  thought  crept,  with  more  of  time,  into  the  medi 
tations  of  the  thoughtful  among  those  who  reveled.  And  thus  too 
it  happened,  perhaps,  that  before  the  last  echoes  of  the  last  chime 
had  utterly  sunk  into  silence,  there  were  many  individuals  in  the 
crowd  who  had  found  leisure  to  become  aware  of  the  presence  of 
a  masked  figure  which  had  arrested  the  attention  of  no  single 
individual  before.  And  the  rumor  of  this  new  presence  having 
spread  itself  whisperingly  around,  there  arose  at  length  from  the 
whole  company  a  buzz,  or  murmur,  expressive  of  disapprobation 
and  surprise,  —  then,  finally,  of  terror,  of  horror,  and  of  disgust. 

In  an  assembly  of  phantasms  such  as  I  have  painted,  it  may 
well  be  supposed  that  no  ordinary  appearance  could  have  excited 
such  sensation.  In  truth  the  masquerade  license  of  the  night 
was  nearly  unlimited  ;  but  the  figure  in  question  had  out-H eroded 
Herod,  and  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of  even  the  prince's  indefinite 
decorum.  There  are  chords  in  the  hearts  of  the  most  reckless 
which  cannot  be  touched  without  emotion.  Even  with  the  utterly 
lost,  to  whom  life  and  death  are  equally  jests,  there  are  matters  of 
which  no  jests  can  be  made.  The  whole  company,  indeed,  seemed 
now  deeply  to  feel  that  in  the  costume  and  bearing  of  the  stranger 
neither  wit  nor  propriety  existed.  The  figure  was  tall  and  gaunt, 
and  shrouded  from  head  to  foot  in  the  habiliments  of  the  grave. 
The  mask  which  concealed  the  visage  was  made  so  nearly  to  re 
semble  the  countenance  of  a  stiffened  corpse  that  the  closest  scru 
tiny  must  have  had  difficulty  in  detecting  the  cheat.  And  yet  all 
this  might  have  been  endured,  if  not  approved,  by  the  mad  revelers 
around.  But  the  mummer  had  gone  so  far  as  to  assume  the  type 


2/4        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  the  Red  Death.  His  vesture  was  dabbled  in  blood  \  and  his 
broad  brow,  with  all  the  features  of  the  face,  was  besprinkled  with 
the  scarlet  horror. 

When  the  eyes  of  Prince  Prospero  fell  upon  this  spectral  image 
(which  with  a  slow  and  solemn  movement,  as  if  more  fully  to  sus 
tain  its  role,  stalked  to  and  fro  among  the  waltzers)  he  was  seen 
to  be  convulsed,  in  the  first  moment,  with  a  strong  shudder  either 
of  terror  or  distaste  ;  but,  in  the  next,  his  brow  reddened  with  rage. 

"Who  dares?"  he  demanded  hoarsely  of  the  courtiers  who 
stood  near  him,  —  "  who  dares  insult  us  with  this  blasphemous 
mockery  ?  Seize  him  and  unmask  him  that  we  may  know  whom 
we  have  to  hang  at  sunrise  from  the  battlements !  " 

It  was  in  the  eastern  or  blue  chamber  in  which  stood  the  Prince 
Prospero  as  he  uttered  these  words.  They  rang  throughout  the 
seven  rooms  loudly  and  clearly ;  for  the  prince  was  a  bold  and 
robust  man,  and  the  music  had  become  hushed  at  the  waving  of 
his  hand. 

It  was  in  the  blue  room  where  stood  the  prince,  with  a  group 
of  pale  courtiers  by  his  side.  At  first,  as  he  spoke,  there  was  a 
slight  rushing  movement  of  this  group  in  the  direction  of  the  in 
truder,  who  at  the  moment  was  also  near  at  hand,  and  now,  with 
deliberate  and  stately  step,  made  closer  approach  to  the  speaker. 
But,  from  a  certain  nameless  awe  with  which  the  mad  assumption 
of  the  mummer  had  inspired  the  whole  party,  there  were  found 
none  who  put  forth  hand  to  seize  him,  so  that,  unimpeded,  he 
passed  within  a  yard  of  the  prince's  person ;  and,  while  the  vast 
assembly,  as  if  with  one  impulse,  shrank  from  the  centres  of  the 
rooms  to  the  walls,  he  made  his  way  uninterruptedly,  but  with  the 
same  solemn  and  measured  step  which  had  distinguished  him  from 
the  first,  through  the  blue  chamber  to  the  purple  —  through  the 
purple  to  the  green  —  through  the  green  to  the  orange  —  through 
this  again  to  the  white  —  and  even  thence  to  the  violet,  ere  a  de 
cided  movement  had  been  made  to  arrest  him.  It  was  then,  how 
ever,  that  the  Prince  Prospero,  maddening  with  rage  and  the  shame 
of  his  own  momentary  cowardice,  rushed  hurriedly  through  the  six 
chambers,  while  none  followed  him  on  account  of  a  deadly  terror 
that  had  seized  upon  all.  He  bore  aloft  a  drawn  dagger,  and  had 


EARLY  NATIONAL  PERIOD  275 

approached,  in  rapid  impetuosity,  to  within  three  or  four  feet  of 
the  retreating  figure,  when  the  latter,  having  attained  the  extremity 
of  the  velvet  apartment,  turned  suddenly  and  confronted  his  pur 
suer.  There  was  a  sharp  cry  —  and  the  dagger  dropped  gleaming 
upon  the  sable  carpet,  upon  which,  instantly  afterwards,  fell  pros 
trate  in  death  the  Prince  Prospero.  Then,  summoning  the  wild 
courage  of  despair,  a  throng  of  the  revelers  at  once  threw  them 
selves  into  the  black  apartment,  and,  seizing  the  mummer,  whose 
tall  figure  stood  erect  and  motionless  within  the  shadow  of  the 
ebony  clock,  gasped  in  unutterable  horror  at  finding  the  grave  cere 
ments  and  corpse-like  mask,  which  they  handled  with  so  violent 
a  rudeness,  untenanted  by  any  tangible  form. 

And  now  was  acknowledged  the  presence  of  the  Red  Death. 
He  had  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  And  one  by  one  dropped 
the  revelers  in  the  blood-bedewed  halls  of  their  revel,  and  died 
each  in  the  despairing  posture  of  his  fall.  And  the  life  of  the 
ebony  clock  went  out  with  that  of  the  last  of  the  gay.  And  the 
flames  of  the  tripods  expired.  And  Darkness  and  Decay  and 
the  Red  Death  held  illimitable  dominion  over  all. 


THE   LATER   NATIONAL   PERIOD 

DANIEL  WEBSTER 

[Born  at  Salisbury,  New  Hampshire,  January  18,  1782;  died  at  Marshfield, 
Massachusetts,  October  24,  1852] 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  THE  LAYING  OF  THE  CORNER 
STONE   OF   THE   BUNKER   HILL   MONUMENT  AT    CHARLES- 
TOWN,  MASSACHUSETTS,  JUNE  17,  1825  (EXTRACTS) 

This  uncounted  multitude  before  me  and  around  me  proves  the 
feeling  which  the  occasion  has  excited.  These  thousands  of  human 
faces,  glowing  with  sympathy  and  joy,  and  from  the  impulses  of 
a  common  gratitude  turned  reverently  to  heaven  in  this  spacious 
temple  of  the  firmament,  proclaim  that  the  day,  the  place,  and 
the  purpose  of  our  assembling  have  made  a  deep  impression  on 
our  hearts. 

If,  indeed,  there  be  anything  in  local  association  fit  to  affect  the 
mind  of  man,  we  need  not  strive  to  repress  the  emotions  which 
agitate  us  here.  We  are  among  the  sepulchres  of  our  fathers.  We 
are  on  ground  distinguished  by  their  valor,  their  constancy,  and 
the  shedding  of  their  blood.  We  are  here,  not  to  fix  an  uncertain 
date  in  our  annals,  nor  to  draw  into  notice  an  obscure  and  unknown 
spot.  If  our  humble  purpose  had  never  been  conceived,  if  we  our 
selves  had  never  been  born,  the  i/th  of  June,  1775,  would  have 
been  a  day  on  which  all  subsequent  history  would  have  poured  its 
light,  and  the  eminence  where  we  stand  a  point  of  attraction  to  the 
eyes  of  successive  generations.  But  we  are  Americans.  We  live  in 
what  may  be  called  the  early  age  of  this  great  continent ;  and  we 
know  that  our  posterity,  through  all  time,  are  here  to  enjoy  and 
suffer  the  allotments  of  humanity.  We  see  before  us  a  probable 
train  of  great  events ;  we  know  that  our  own  fortunes  have  been 
happily  cast ;  and  it  is  natural,  therefore,  that  we  should  be  moved 

276 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  277 

by  the  contemplation  of  occurrences  which  have  guided  our  destiny 
before  many  of  us  were  born,  and  settled  the  condition  in  which  we 
should  pass  that  portion  of  our  existence  which  God  allows  to  men 
on  earth. 

We  do  not  read  even  of  the  discovery  of  this  continent,  without 
feeling  something  of  a  personal  interest  in  the  event ;  without 
being  reminded  how  much  it  has  affected  our  own  fortunes  and 
our  own  existence.  It  would  be  still  more  unnatural  for  us,  there 
fore,  than  for  others,  to  contemplate  with  unaffected  minds  that 
interesting,  I  may  say  that  most  touching  and  pathetic  scene,  when 
the  great  discoverer  of  America  stood  on  the  deck  of  his  shattered 
bark,  the  shades  of  night  falling  on  the  sea,  yet  no  man  sleeping ; 
tossed  on  the  billows  of  an  unknown  ocean,  yet  the  stronger  billows 
of  alternate  hope  and  despair  tossing  his  own  troubled  thoughts ; 
extending  forward  his  harassed  frame,  straining  westward  his  anx 
ious  and  eager  eyes,  till  Heaven  at  last  granted  him  a  moment  of 
rapture  and  ecstasy,  in  blessing  his  vision  with  the  sight  of  the 
unknown  world. 

Nearer  to  our  times,  more  closely  connected  with  our  fates,  and 
therefore  still  more  interesting  to  our  feelings  and  affections,  is 
the  settlement  of  our  own  country  by  colonists  from  England.  We 
cherish  every  memorial  of  these  worthy  ancestors ;  we  celebrate 
their  patience  and  fortitude ;  we  admire  their  daring  enterprise  ; 
we  teach  our  children  to  venerate  their  piety ;  and  we  are  justly 
proud  of  being  descended  from  men  who  have  set  the  world  an 
example  of  founding  civil  institutions  on  the  great  and  united  prin 
ciples  of  human  freedom  and  human  knowledge.  To  us,  their  chil 
dren,  the  story  of  their  labors  and  sufferings  can  never  be  without 
interest.  We  shall  not  stand  unmoved  on  the  shore  of  Plymouth, 
while  the  sea  continues  to  wash  it ;  nor  will  our  brethren  in  another 
early  and  ancient  Colony  forget  the  place  of  its  first  establishment, 
till  their  river  shall  cease  to  flow  by  it.  No  vigor  of  youth,  no 
maturity  of  manhood,  will  lead  the  nation  to  forget  the  spots  where 
its  infancy  was  cradled  and  defended. 

But  the  great  event  in  the  history  of  the  continent,  which  we 
are  now  met  here  to  commemorate,  that  prodigy  of  modern  times, 
at  once  the  wonder  and  the  blessing  of  the  world,  is  the  American 


278        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Revolution.  In  a  day  of  extraordinary  prosperity  and  happiness, 
of  high  national  honor,  distinction,  and  power,  we  are  brought 
together,  in  this  place,  by  our  love  of  country,  by  our  admiration 
of  exalted  character,  by  our  gratitude  for  signal  services  and 
patriotic  devotion. 

The  Society  whose  organ  I  am  was  formed  for  the  purpose  of 
rearing  some  honorable  and  durable  monument  to  the  memory  of 
the  early  friends  of  American  Independence.  They  have  thought 
that  for  this  object  no  time  could  be  more  propitious  than  the 
present  prosperous  and  peaceful  period ;  that  no  place  could  claim 
preference  over  this  memorable  spot ;  and  that  no  day  could  be 
more  auspicious  to  the  undertaking,  than  the  anniversary  of  the 
battle  which  was  here  fought.  The  foundation  of  that  monument 
we  have  now  laid.  With  solemnities  suited  to  the  occasion,  with 
prayers  to  Almighty  God  for  his  blessing,  and  in  the  midst  of  this 
cloud  of  witnesses,  we  have  begun  the  work.  We  trust  it  will  be 
prosecuted,  and  that,  springing  from  a  broad  foundation,  rising 
high  in  massive  solidity  and  unadorned  grandeur,  it  may  remain 
as  long  as  Heaven  permits  the  works  of  man  to  last,  a  fit  emblem, 
both  of  the  events  in  memory  of  which  it  is  raised,  and  of  the 
gratitude  of  those  who  have  reared  it. 

********** 

We  live  in  a  most  extraordinary  age.  Events  so  various  and  so 
important  that  they  might  crowd  and  distinguish  centuries  are,  in 
our  times,  compressed  within  the  compass  of  a  single  life.  When 
has  it  happened  that  history  has  had  so  much  to  record,  in  the 
same  term  of  years,  as  since  the  i/th  of  June,  1775  ?  Our  own 
revolution,  which,  under  other  circumstances,  might  itself  have  been 
expected  to  occasion  a  war  of  half  a  century,  has  been  achieved ; 
twenty-four  sovereign  and  independent  States  erected ;  and  a  gen 
eral  government  established  over  them,  so  safe,  so  wise,  so  free, 
so  practical,  that  we  might  well  wonder  its  establishment  should 
have  been  accomplished  so  soon,  were  it  not  far  the  greater  wonder 
that  it  should  have  been  established  at  all.  Two  or  three  millions 
of  people  have  been  augmented  to  twelve,  the  great  forests  of  the 
West  prostrated  beneath  the  arm  of  successful  industry,  and  the 
dwellers  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi  become 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  279 

the  fellow-citizens  and  neighbors  of  those  who  cultivate  the  hills  of 
New  England.  We  have  a  commerce  that  leaves  no  sea  unexplored ; 
navies  which  take  no  law  from  superior  force  ;  revenues  adequate 
to  all  the  exigencies  of  government,  almost  without  taxation ;  and 
peace  with  all  nations,  founded  on  equal  rights  and  mutual  respect. 

Europe,  within  the  same  period,  has  been  agitated  by  a  mighty 
revolution,  which,  while  it  has  been  felt  in  the  individual  condition 
and  happiness  of  almost  every  man,  has  shaken  to  the  centre  her 
political  fabric,  and  dashed  against  one  another  thrones  which  had 
stood  tranquil  for  ages.  On  this,  our  continent,  our  own  example 
has  been  followed,  and  colonies  have  sprung  up  to  be  nations. 
Unaccustomed  sounds  of  liberty  and  free  government  have  reached 
us  from  beyond  the  track  of  the  sun ;  and  at  this  moment  the 
dominion  of  European  power  in  this  continent,  from  the  place 
where  we  stand  to  the  south  pole,  is  annihilated  for  ever. 

In  the  mean  time,  both  in  Europe  and  America,  such  has  been 
the  general  progress  of  knowledge,  such  the  improvement  in 
legislation,  in  commerce,  in  the  arts,  in  letters,  and,  above  all,  in 
liberal  ideas  and  the  general  spirit  of  the  age,  that  the  whole  world 
seems  changed. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  that  this  is  but  a  faint  abstract  of  the 
things  which  have  happened  since  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Bunker 
Hill,  we  are  but  fifty  years  removed  from  it ;  and  we  now  stand 
here  to  enjoy  all  the  blessings  of  our  own  condition,  and  to  look 
abroad  on  the  brightened  prospects  of  the  world,  while  we  still 
have  among  us  some  of  those  who  were  active  agents  in  the 
scenes  of  1775,  and  who  are  now  here,  from  every  quarter  of 
New  England,  to  visit  once  more,  and  under  circumstances  so 
affecting,  I  had  almost  said  so  overwhelming,  this  renowned 
theatre  of  their  courage  and  patriotism. 

VENERABLE  MEN  !  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a  former 
generation.  Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out  your  lives, 
that  you  might  behold  this  joyous  day.  You  are  now  where  you 
stood  fifty  years  ago,  this  very  hour,  with  your  brothers  and  your 
neighbors,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  strife  for  your  country. 
Behold,  how  altered !  The  same  heavens  are  indeed  over  your 
heads ;  the  same  ocean  rolls  at  your  feet ;  but  all  else  how 


280         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

changed  !  You  hear  now  no  roar  of  hostile  cannon,  you  see  no 
mixed  volumes  of  smoke  and  flame  rising  from  burning  Charles- 
town.  The  ground  strewed  with  the  dead  and  the  dying ;  the 
impetuous  charge ;  the  steady  and  successful  repulse  ;  the  loud 
call  to  repeated  assault ;  the  summoning  of  all  that  is  manly  to 
repeated  resistance ;  a  thousand  bosoms  freely  and  fearlessly 
bared  in  an  instant  to  whatever  of  terror  there  may  be  in  war 
and  death ;  —  all  these  you  have  witnessed,  but  you  witness  them 
no  more.  All  is  peace.  The  heights  of  yonder  metropolis,  its 
towers  and  roofs,  which  you  then  saw  filled  with  wives  and  chil 
dren  and  countrymen  in  distress  and  terror,  and  looking  with 
unutterable  emotions  for  the  issue  of  the  combat,  have  presented 
you  to-day  with  the  sight  of  its  whole  happy  population,  come  out 
to  welcome  and  greet  you  with  a  universal  jubilee.  Yonder  proud 
ships,  by  a  felicity  of  position  appropriately  lying  at  the  foot  of 
this  mount,  and  seeming  fondly  to  cling  around  it,  are  not  means 
of  annoyance  to  you,  but  your  country's  own  means  of  distinction 
and  defence.  All  is  peace ;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight  of 
your  country's  happiness,  ere  you  slumber  in  the  grave.  He  has 
allowed  you  to  behold  and  to  partake  the  reward  of  your  patriotic 
toils ;  and  he  has  allowed  us,  your  sons  and  countrymen,  to  meet 
you  here,  and  in  the  name  of  the  present  generation,  in  the  name 
of  your  country,  in  the  name  of  liberty,  to  thank  you  ! 

But,  alas !  you  are  not  all  here !  Time  and  the  sword  have 
thinned  your  ranks.  Prescott,  Putnam,  Stark,  Brooks,  Read, 
Pomeroy,  Bridge !  our  eyes  seek  for  you  in  vain  amid  this 
broken  band.  You  are  gathered  to  your  fathers,  and  live  only  to 
your  country  in  her  grateful  remembrance  and  your  own  bright 
example.  But  let  us  not  too  much  grieve,  that  you  have  met  the 
common  fate  of  men.  You  lived  at  least  long  enough  to  know 
that  your  work  had  been  nobly  and  successfully  accomplished. 
You  lived  to  see  your  country's  independence  established,  and  to 
sheathe  your  swords  from  war.  On  the  light  of  Liberty  you  saw 
arise  the  light  of  Peace,  like 

"  another  morn, 
Risen  on  mid-noon  ;  " 

and  the  sky  on  which  you  closed  your  eyes  was  cloudless. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  281 

But,  ah !  Him !  the  first  great  martyr  in  this  great  cause ! 
Him!  the  premature  victim  of  his  own  self-devoting  heart!  Him! 
the  head  of  our  civil  councils,  and  the  destined  leader  of  our  mili 
tary  bands,  whom  nothing  brought  hither  but  the  unquenchable 
fire  of  his  own  spirit !  Him !  cut  off  by  Providence  in  the  hour 
of  overwhelming  anxiety  and  thick  gloom  ;  falling  ere  he  saw  the 
star  of  his  country  rise ;  pouring  out  his  generous  blood  like  water, 
before  he  knew  whether  it  would  fertilize  a  land  of  freedom  or  of 
bondage!  —  how  shall  I  struggle  with  the  emotions  that  stifle  the 
utterance  of  thy  name !  Our  poor  work  may  perish  ;  but  thine 
shall  endure !  This  monument  may  moulder  away ;  the  solid 
ground  it  rests  upon  may  sink  down  to  a  level  with  the  sea ;  but 
thy  memory  shall  not  fail !  Wheresoever  among  men  a  heart  shall 
be  found  that  beats  to  the  transports  of  patriotism  and  liberty,  its 
aspirations  shall  be  to  claim  kindred  with  thy  spirit. 

But  the  scene  amidst  which  we  stand  does  not  permit  us  to  con 
fine  our  thoughts  or  our  sympathies  to  those  fearless  spirits  who 
hazarded  or  lost  their  lives  on  this  consecrated  spot.  We  have  the 
happiness  to  rejoice  here  in  the  presence  of  a  most  worthy  repre 
sentation  of  the  survivors  of  the  whole  Revolutionary  army. 

VETERANS  !  you  are  the  remnant  of  many  a  well-fought  field. 
You  bring  with  you  marks  of  honor  from  Trenton  and  Monmouth, 
from  Yorktown,  Camden,  Bennington,  and  Saratoga.  VETERANS 
OF  HALF  A  CENTURY  !  when  in  your  youthful  days  you  put  every 
thing  at  hazard  in  your  country's  cause,  good  as  that  cause  was, 
and  sanguine  as  youth  is,  still  your  fondest  hopes  did  not  stretch 
onward  to  an  hour  like  this !  At  a  period  to, which  you  could  not 
reasonably  have  expected  to  arrive,  at  a  moment  of  national  pros 
perity  such  as  you  could  never  have  foreseen,  you  are  now  met 
here  to  enjoy  the  fellowship  of  old  soldiers,  and  to  receive  the 
overflowings  of  a  universal  gratitude. 

But  your  agitated  countenances  and  your  heaving  breasts  inform 
me  that  even  this  is  not  an  unmixed  joy.  I  perceive  that  a  tumult 
of  contending  feelings  rushes  upon  you.  The  images  of  the  dead, 
as  well  as  the  persons  of  the  living,  present  themselves  before  you. 
The  scene  overwhelms  you,  and  I  turn  from  it.  May  the  Father 
of  all  mercies  smile  upon  your  declining  years,  and  bless  them ! 


282        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  when  you  shall  here  have  exchanged  your  embraces,  when 
you  shall  once  more  have  pressed  the  hands  which  have  been  so 
often  extended  to  give  succor  in  adversity,  or  grasped  in  the  exul 
tation  of  victory,  then  look  abroad  upon  this  lovely  land  which  your 
young  valor  defended,  and  mark  the  happiness  with  which  it  is 
filled ;  yea,  look  abroad  upon  the  whole  earth,  and  see  what  a 
name  you  have  contributed  to  give  to  your  country,  and  what  a 
praise  you  have  added  to  freedom,  and  then  rejoice  in  the  sym 
pathy  and  gratitude  which  beam  upon  your  last  days  from  the 
improved  condition  of  mankind ! 

********** 

The  1 7th  of  June  saw  the  four  New  England  Colonies  standing 
here,  side  by  side,  to  triumph  or  to  fall  together ;  and  there  was 
with  them  from  that  moment  to  the  end  of  the  war,  what  I  hope 
will  remain  with  them  forever,  —  one  cause,  one  country,  one  heart. 

The  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  attended  with  the  most  impor 
tant  effects  beyond  its  immediate  results  as  a  military  engagement. 
It  created  at  once  a  state  of  open,  public  war.  There  could  now  be 
no  longer  a  question  of  proceeding  against  individuals,  as  guilty  of 
treason  or  rebellion.  That  fearful  crisis  was  past.  The  appeal  lay 
to  the  sword,  and  the  only  question  was,  whether  the  spirit  and  the 
resources  of  the  people  would  hold  out  till  the  object  should  be 
accomplished.  Nor  were  its  general  consequences  confined  to  our 
own  country.  The  previous  proceedings  of  the  Colonies,  their 
appeals,  resolutions,  and  addresses,  had  made  their  cause  known 
to  Europe.  Without  boasting,  we  may  say,  that  in  no  age  or 
country  has  the  public  cause  been  maintained  with  more  force  of 
argument,  more  power  of  illustration,  or  more  of  that  persuasion 
which  excited  feeling  and  elevated  principle  can  alone  bestow, 
than  the  Revolutionary  state  papers  exhibit.  These  papers  will 
forever  deserve  to  be  studied,  not  only  for  the  spirit  which  they 
breathe,  but  for  the  ability  with  which  they  were  written. 

To  this  able  vindication  of  their  cause,  the  Colonies  had  now 
added  a  practical  and  severe  proof  of  their  own  true  devotion  to 
it,  and  given  evidence  also  of  the  power  which  they  could  bring 
to  its  support.  All  now  saw,  that  if  America  fell,  she  would  not 
fall  without  a  struggle.  Men  felt  sympathy  and  regard,  as  well  as 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  283 

surprise,  when  they  beheld  these  infant  states,  remote,  unknown, 
unaided,  encounter  the  power  of  England,  and,  in  the  first  con 
siderable  battle,  leave  more  of  their  enemies  dead  on  the  field,  in 
proportion  to  the  number  of  combatants,  than  had  been  recently 
known  to  fall  in  the  wars  of  Europe. 

Information  of  these  events,  circulating  throughout  the  world, 
at  length  reached  the  ears  of  one  who  now  hears  me.  He  has 
not  forgotten  the  emotion  which  the  fame  of  Bunker  Hill,  and 
the  name  of  Warren,  excited  in  his  youthful  breast. 

Sir,  we  are  assembled  to  commemorate  the  establishment  of 
great  public  principles  of  liberty,  and  to  do  honor  to  the  distin 
guished  dead.  The  occasion  is  too  severe  for  eulogy  of  the  living. 
But,  Sir,  your  interesting  relation  to  this  country,  the  peculiar  cir 
cumstances  which  surround  you  and  surround  us,  call  on  me  to 
express  the  happiness  which  we  derive  from  your  presence  and 
aid  in  this  solemn  commemoration. 

Fortunate,  fortunate  man  !  with  what  measure  of  devotion  will 
you  not  thank  God  for  the  circumstances  of  your  extraordinary 
life !  You  are  connected  with  both  hemispheres  and  with  two 
generations.  Heaven  saw  fit  to  ordain  that  the  electric  spark  of 
liberty  should  be  conducted,  through  you,  from  the  New  World 
to  the  Old ;  and  we,  who  are  now  here  to  perform  this  duty  of 
patriotism,  have  all  of  us  long  ago  received  it  in  charge  from  our 
fathers  to  cherish  your  name  and  your  virtues.  You  will  account 
it  an  instance  of  your  good  fortune,  Sir,  that  you  crossed  the  seas 
to  visit  us  at  a  time  which  enables  you  to  be  present  at  this  solem 
nity.  You  now  behold  the  field,  the  renown  of  which  reached  you 
in  the  heart  of  France,  and  caused  a  thrill  in  your  ardent  bosom. 
You  see  the  lines  of  the  little  redoubt  thrown  up  by  the  incredible 
diligence  of  Prescott ;  defended,  to  the  last  extremity,  by  his  lion- 
hearted  valor  ;  and  within  which  the  corner-stone  of  our  monument 
has  now  taken  its  position.  You  see  where  Warren  fell,  and  where 
Parker,  Gardner,  McCleary,  Moore,  and  other  early  patriots  fell 
with  him.  Those  who  survived  that  day,  and  whose  lives  have 
been  prolonged  to  the  present  hour,  are  now  around  you.  Some 
of  them  you  have  known  in  the  trying  scenes  of  the  war.  Be 
hold  !  they  now  stretch  forth  their  feeble  arms  to  embrace  you. 


284        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Behold !  they  raise  their  trembling  voices  to  invoke  the  blessing 
of  God  on  you  and  yours  forever. 

Sir,  you  have  assisted  us  in  laying  the  foundation  of  this  struc 
ture.  You  have  heard  us  rehearse,  with  our  feeble  commendation, 
the  names  of  departed  patriots.  Monuments  and  eulogy  belong 
to  the  dead.  We  give  then  this  day  to  Warren  and  his  associates. 
On  other  occasions  they  have  been  given  to  your  more  immediate 
companions  in  arms,  to  Washington,  to  Greene,  to  Gates,  to  Sulli 
van,  and  to  Lincoln.  We  have  become  reluctant  to  grant  these, 
our  highest  and  last  honors,  further.  We  would  gladly  hold  them 
yet  back  from  the  little  remnant  of  that  immortal  band.  "  Serus 
in  coelum  redeas"  Illustrious  as  are  your  merits,  yet  far,  O,  very 
far  distant  be  the  day,  when  any  inscription  shall  bear  your  name, 
or  any  tongue  pronounce  fts  eulogy ! 

The  leading  reflection  to  which  this  occasion  seems  to  invite  us, 
respects  the  great  changes  which  have  happened  in  the  fifty  years 
since  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  fought.  And  it  peculiarly 
marks  the  character  of  the  present  age,  that,  in  looking  at  these 
changes,  and  in  estimating  their  effect  on  our  condition,  we  are 
obliged  to  consider,  not  what  has  been  done  in  our  country  only,  but 
in  others  also.  In  these  interesting  times,  while  nations  are  making 
separate  and  individual  advances  in  improvement,  they  make,  too, 
a  common  progress ;  like  vessels  on  a  common  tide,  propelled  by 
the  gales  at  different  rates,  according  to  their  several  structure  and 
management,  but  all  moved  forward  by  one  mighty  current,  strong 
enough  to  bear  onward  whatever  does  not  sink  beneath  it. 

A  chief  distinction  of  the  present  day  is  a  community  of  opinions 
and  knowledge  amongst  men  in  different  nations,  existing  in  a 
degree  heretofore  unknown.  Knowledge  has,  in  our  time,  tri 
umphed,  and  is  triumphing,  over  distance,  over  difference  of  lan 
guages,  over  diversity  of  habits,  over  prejudice,  and  over  bigotry. 
The  civilized  and  Christian  world  is  fast  learning  the  great  lesson, 
that  difference  of  nation  does  not  imply  necessary  hostility,  and 
that  all  contact  need  not  be  war.  The  whole  world  is  becoming 
a  common  field  for  intellect  to  act  in.  Energy  of  mind,  genius, 
power,  wheresoever  it  exists,  may  speak  out  in  any  tongue,  and 
the  world  will  hear  it.  A  great  chord  of  sentiment  and  feeling 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  285 

runs  through  two  continents,  and  vibrates  over  both.  Every  breeze 
wafts  intelligence  from  country  to  country,  every  wave  rolls  it ; 
all  give  it  forth,  and  ail  in  turn  receive  it.  There  is  a  vast  com 
merce  of  ideas ;  there  are  marts  and  exchanges  for  intellectual 
discoveries,  and  a  wonderful  fellowship  of  those  individual  intelli 
gences  which  make  up  the  mind  and  opinion  of  the  age.  Mind 
is  the  great  lever  of  all  things  ;  human  thought  is  the  process  by 
which  human  ends  are  ultimately  answered ;  and  the  diffusion  of 
knowledge,  so  astonishing  in  the  last  half-century,  has  rendered 
innumerable  minds,  variously  gifted  by  nature,  competent  to  be  com 
petitors  or  fellow- workers  on  the  theatre  of  intellectual  operation. 

From  these  causes  important  improvements  have  taken  place 
in  the  personal  condition  of  individuals.  Generally  speaking,  man 
kind  are  not  only  better  fed  and  better  clothed,  but  they  are  able 
also  to  enjoy  more  leisure  ;  they  possess  more  refinement  and  more 
self-respect.  A  superior  tone  of  education,  manners,  and  habits 
prevails.  This  remark,  most  true  in  its  application  to  our  own 
country,  is  also  partly  true  when  applied  elsewhere.  It  is  proved 
by  the  vastly  augmented  consumption  of  those  articles  of  manu 
facture  and  of  commerce  which  contribute  to  the  comforts  and 
the  decencies  of  life ;  an  augmentation  which  has  far  outrun  the 
progress  of  population.  And  while  the  unexampled  and  almost 
incredible  use  of  machinery  would  seem  to  supply  the  place  of 
labor,  labor  still  finds  its  occupation  and  its  reward  ;  so  wisely  has 
Providence  adjusted  men's  wants  and  desires  to  their  condition 
and  their  capacity. 

Any  adequate  survey,  however,  of  the  progress  made  during  the 
last  half-century  in  the  polite  and  the  mechanic  arts,  in  machinery 
and  manufactures,  in  commerce  and  agriculture,  in  letters  and  in 
science,  would  require  volumes.  I  must  abstain  wholly  from  these 
subjects,  and  turn  for  a  moment  to  the  contemplation  of  what  has 
been  done  on  the  great  question  of  politics  and  government.  This 
is  the  master  topic  of  the  age ;  and  during  the  whole  fifty  years  it 
has  intensely  occupied  the  thoughts  of  men.  The  nature  of  civil 
government,  its  ends  and  uses,  have  been  canvassed  and  inves 
tigated  ;  ancient  opinions  attacked  and  defended  ;  new  ideas  recom 
mended  and  resisted,  by  whatever  power  the  mind  of  man  could 


286         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

bring  to  the  controversy.  From  the  closet  and  the  public  halls  the 
debate  has  been  transferred  to  the  field  ;  and  the  world  has  been 
shaken  by  wars  of  unexampled  magnitude,  and  the  greatest  variety 
of  fortune.  A  day  of  peace  has  at  length  succeeded  ;  and  now  that 
the  strife  has  subsided,  and  the  smoke  cleared  away,  we  may  begin 
to  see  what  has  actually  been  done,  permanently  changing  the 
state  and  condition  of  human  society.  And,  without  dwelling  on 
particular  circumstances,  it  is  most  apparent,  that,  from  the  before- 
mentioned  causes  of  augmented  knowledge  and  improved  individual 
condition,  a  real,  substantial,  and  important  change  has  taken  place, 
and  is  taking  place,  highly  favorable,  on  the  whole,  to  human  liberty 
and  human  happiness. 

The  great  wheel  of  political  revolution  began  to  move  in  America. 
Here  its  rotation  was  guarded,  regular,  and  safe.  Transferred  to  the 
other  continent,  from  unfortunate  but  natural  causes,  it  received  an 
irregular  and  violent  impulse ;  it  whirled  along  with  a  fearful  cel 
erity  ;  till  at  length,  like  the  chariot-wheels  in  the  races  of  antiquity, 
it  took  fire  from  the  rapidity  of  its  own  motion,  and  blazed  onward, 
spreading  conflagration  and  terror  around. 

We  learn  from  the  result  of  this  experiment,  how  fortunate  was 
our  own  condition,  and  how  admirably  the  character  of  our  people 
was  calculated  for  setting  the  great  example  of  popular  govern 
ments.  The  possession  of  power  did  not  turn  the  heads  of  the 
American  people,  for  they  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  exercising 
a  great  degree  of  self-control.  Although  the  paramount  authority 
of  the  parent  state  existed  over  them,  yet  a  large  field  of  legislation 
had  always  been  open  to  our  Colonial  assemblies.  They  were  accus 
tomed  to  representative  bodies  and  the  forms  of  free  government ; 
they  understood  the  doctrine  of  the  division  of  power  among  dif 
ferent  branches,  and  the  necessity  of  checks  on  each.  The  char 
acter  of  our  countrymen,  moreover,  was  sober,  moral,  and  religious  ; 
and  there  was  little  in  the  change  to  shock  their  feelings  of  justice 
and  humanity,  or  even  to  disturb  an  honest  prejudice.  We  had  no 
domestic  throne  to  overturn,  no  privileged  orders  to  cast  down,  no 
violent  changes  of  property  to  encounter.  In  the  American  Revolu 
tion,  no  man  sought  or  wished  for  more  than  to  defend  and  enjoy 
his  own.  None  hoped  for  plunder  or  for  spoil.  Rapacity  was 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  287 

unknown  to  it ;  the  axe  was  not  among  the  instruments  of  its 
accomplishment ;  and  we  all  know  that  it  could  not  have  lived  a 
single  day  under  any  well-founded  imputation  of  possessing  a 
tendency  adverse  to  the  Christian  religion. 

It  need  not  surprise  us,  that,  under  circumstances  less  auspicious, 
political  revolutions  elsewhere,  even  when  well  intended,  have  ter 
minated  differently.  It  is,  indeed,  a  great  achievement,  it  is  the 
masterwork  of  the  world,  to  establish  governments  entirely  popular 
on  lasting  foundations  ;  nor  is  it  easy,  indeed,  to  introduce  the  popu 
lar  principle  at  all  into  governments  to  which  it  has  been  altogether 
a  stranger.  It  cannot  be  doubted,  however,  that  Europe  has  come 
out  of  the  contest,  in  which  she  has  been  so  long  engaged,  with 
greatly  superior  knowledge,  and,  in  many  respects,  in  a  highly  im 
proved  condition.  Whatever  benefit  has  been  acquired  is  likely  to 
be  retained,  for  it  consists  mainly  in  the  acquisition  of  more  enlight 
ened  ideas.  And  although  kingdoms  and  provinces  may  be  wrested 
from  the  hands  that  hold  them,  in  the  same  manner  they  were 
obtained ;  although  ordinary  and  vulgar  power  may,  in  human 
affairs,  be  lost  as  it  has  been  won  ;  yet  it  is  the  glorious  preroga 
tive  of  the  empire  of  knowledge,  that  what  it  gains  it  never  loses. 
On  the  contrary,  it  increases  by  the  multiple  of  its  own  power ; 
all  its  ends  become  means ;  all  its  attainments,  helps  to  new  con 
quests.  Its  whole  abundant  harvest  is  but  so  much  seed  wheat, 
and  nothing  has  limited,  and  nothing  can  limit,  the  amount  of 
ultimate  product. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  rapidly  increasing  knowledge,  the 
people  have  begun,  in  all  forms  of  government,  to  think,  and  to 
reason,  on  affairs  of  state.  Regarding  government  as  an  institution 
for  the  public  good,  they  demand  a  knowledge  of  its  operations, 
and  a  participation  in  its  exercise.  A  call  for  the  representative 
system,  wherever  it  is  not  enjoyed,  and  where  there  is  already 
intelligence  enough  to  estimate  its  value,  is  perseveringly  made. 
Where  men  may  speak  out,  they  demand  it ;  where  the  bayonet 
is  at  their  throats,  they  pray  for  it. 

When  Louis  the  Fourteenth  said,  "  I  am  the  State,"  he  ex 
pressed  the  essence  of  the  doctrine  of  unlimited  power.  By  the 
rules  of  that  system,  the  people  are  disconnected  from  the  state ; 


288         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

they  are  its  subjects,  it  is  their  lord.  These  ideas,  founded  in  the 
love  of  power,  and  long  supported  by  the  excess  and  the  abuse  of 
it,  are  yielding,  in  our  age,  to  other  opinions  ;  and  the  civilized 
world  seems  at  last  to  be  proceeding  to  the  conviction  of  that  fun 
damental  and  manifest  truth,  that  the  powers  of  government  are 
but  a  trust,  and  that  they  cannot  be  lawfully  exercised  but  for  the 
good  of  the  community.  As  knowledge  is  more  and  more  extended, 
this  conviction  becomes  more  and  more  general.  Knowledge,  in 
truth,  is  the  great  sun  in  the  firmament.  Life  and  power  are  scat 
tered  with  all  its  beams.  The  prayer  of  the  Grecian  champion, 
when  enveloped  in  unnatural  clouds  and  darkness,  is  the  appro 
priate  political  supplication  for  the  people  of  every  country  not 
yet  blessed  with  free  institutions  :  — 

"  Dispel  this  cloud,  the  light  of  heaven  restore, 
Give  me  to  SEE,  —  and  Ajax  asks  no  more." 

We  may  hope  that  the  growing  influence  of  enlightened  senti 
ment  will  promote  the  permanent  peace  of  the  world.  Wars  to 
maintain  family  alliances,  to  uphold  or  to  cast  down  dynasties,  and 
to  regulate  successions  to  thrones,  which  have  occupied  so  much 
room  in  the  history  of  modern  times,  if  not  less  likely  to  happen 
at  all,  will  be  less  likely  to  become  general  and  involve  many 
nations,  as  the  great  principle  shall  be  more  and  more  established, 
that  the  interest  of  the  world  is  peace,  and  its  first  great  statute, 
that  every  nation  possesses  the  power  of  establishing  a  government 
for  itself.  But  public  opinion  has  attained  also  an  influence  over 
governments  which  do  not  admit  the  popular  principle  into  their 
organization.  A  necessary  respect  for  the  judgment  of  the  world 
operates,  in  some  measure,  as  a  control  over  the  most  unlimited 
forms  of  authority.  It  is  owing,  perhaps,  to  this  truth,  that  the 
interesting  struggle  of  the  Greeks  has  been  suffered  to  go  on  so 
long,  without  a  direct  interference,  either  to  wrest  that  country 
from  its  present  masters,  or  to  execute  the  system  of  pacification 
by  force  ;  and,  with  united  strength,  lay  the  neck  of  Christian  and 
civilized  Greek  at  the  foot  of  the  barbarian  Turk.  Let  us  thank- 
God  that  we  live  in  an  age  when  something  has  influence  besides 
the  bayonet,  and  when  the  sternest  authority  does  not  venture  to 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  289 

encounter  the  scorching  power  of  public  reproach.  Any  attempt  of 
the  kind  I  have  mentioned  should  be  met  by  one  universal  burst  of 
indignation  ;  the  air  of  the  civilized  world  ought  to  be  made  too 
warm  to  be  comfortably  breathed  by  any  one  who  would  hazard  it. 
********** 

And  now,  let  us  indulge  an  honest  exultation  in  the  conviction 
of  the  benefit  which  the  example  of  our  country  has  produced,  and 
is  likely  to  produce,  on  human  freedom  and  human  happiness.  Let 
us  endeavor  to  comprehend  in  all  its  magnitude,  and  to  feel  in 
all  its  importance,  the  part  assigned  to  us  in  the  great  drama  of 
human  affairs.  We  are  placed  at  the  head  of  the  system  of  repre 
sentative  and  popular  governments.  Thus  far  our  example  shows 
that  such  governments  are  compatible,  not  only  with  respectability 
and  power,  but  with  repose,  with  peace,  with  security  of  personal 
rights,  with  good  laws,  and  a  just  administration. 

We  are  not  propagandists.  Wherever  other  systems  are  pre 
ferred,  either  as  being  thought  better  in  themselves,  or  as  better 
suited  to  existing  conditions,  we  leave  the  preference  to  be  enjoyed. 
Our  history  hitherto  proves,  however,  that  the  popular  form  is 
practicable,  and  that  with  wisdom  and  knowledge  men  may  govern 
themselves ;  and  the  duty  incumbent  on  us  is  to  preserve  the  con 
sistency  of  this  cheering  example,  and  take  care  that  nothing  may 
weaken  its  authority  with  the  world.  If,  in  our  case,  the  repre 
sentative  system  ultimately  fail,  popular  governments  must  be 
pronounced  impossible.  No  combination  of  circumstances  more 
favorable  to  the  experiment  can  ever  be  expected  to  occur.  The 
last  hopes  of  mankind,  therefore,  rest  with  us  ;  and  if  it  should 
be  proclaimed,  that  our  example  had  become  an  argument  against 
the  experiment,  the  knell  of  popular  liberty  would  be  sounded 
throughout  the  earth. 

These  are  excitements  to  duty  ;  but  they  are  not  suggestions  of 
doubt.  Our  history  and  our  condition,  all  that  is  gone  before  us, 
and  all  that  surrounds  us,  authorize  the  belief,  that  popular  gov 
ernments,  though  subject  to  occasional  variations,  in  form  perhaps 
not  always  for  the  better,  may  yet,  in  their  general  character,  be  as 
durable  and  permanent  as  other  systems.  We  know,  indeed,  that 
in  our  country  any  other  is  impossible.  The  principle  of  free 


290        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

governments  adheres  to  the  American  soil.    It  is  bedded  in  it, 
immovable  as  its  mountains. 

And  let  the  sacred  obligations  which  have  devolved  on  this 
generation,  and  on  us,  sink  deep  into  our  hearts.  Those  who  es 
tablished  our  liberty  and  our  government  are  daily  dropping  from 
among  us.  The  great  trust  now  descends  to  new  hands.  Let  us 
apply  ourselves  to  that  which  is  presented  to  us,  as  our  appropriate 
object.  We  can  win  no  laurels  in  a  war  for  independence.  Earlier 
and  worthier  hands  have  gathered  them  all.  Nor  are  there  places 
for  us  by  the  side  of  Solon,  and  Alfred,  and  other  founders  of 
states.  Our  fathers  have  filled  them.  But  there  remains  to  us  a 
great  duty  of  defence  and  preservation ;  and  there  is  opened  to 
us,  also,  a  noble  pursuit,  to  which  the  spirit  of  the  times  strongly 
invites  us.  Our  proper  business  is  improvement.  Let  our  age  be 
the  age  of  improvement.  In  a  day  of  peace,  let  us  advance  the 
arts  of  peace  and  the  works  of  peace.  Let  us  develop  the  resources 
of  our  land,  call  forth  its  powers,  build  up  its  institutions,  promote 
all  its  great  interests,  and  see  whether  we  also,  in  our  day  and  gen 
eration,  may  not  perform  something  worthy  to  be  remembered. 
Let  us  cultivate  a  true  spirit  of  union  and  harmony.  In  pursuing 
the  great  objects  which  our  condition  points  out  to  us,  let  us  act 
under  a  settled  conviction,  and  an  habitual  feeling,  that  these 
twenty-four  States  are  one  country.  Let  our  conceptions  be  en 
larged  to  the  circle  of  our  duties.  Let  us  extend  our  ideas  over 
the  whole  of  the  vast  field  in  which  we  are  called  to  act.  Let  our 
object  be,  OUR  COUNTRY,  OUR  WHOLE  COUNTRY,  AND  NOTHING  BUT 
OUR  COUNTRY.  And,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  may  that  country 
itself  become  a  vast  and  splendid  monument,  not  of  oppression 
and  terror,  but  of  Wisdom,  of  Peace,  and  of  Liberty,  upon  which 
the  world  may  gaze  with  admiration  forever ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  291 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

[Born  in  Kentucky,  February  12,  1809;   died  at  Washington,  D.  C, 
April  14,  1865] 

THE  GETTYSBURG  SPEECH 

DELIVERED  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  THE  NATIONAL  CEMETERY 
GETTYSBURG,  PENNSYLVANIA,  NOVEMBER  19,  1863 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought  forth  on 
this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  dedicated 
to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal.  Now  we  are 
engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation,  or  any 
nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  We  are 
met  on  a  great  battlefield  of  that  war.  We  have  come  to  dedicate 
a  portion  of  that  field  as  a  final  resting-place  for  those  who  here 
gave  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting 
and  proper  that  we  should  do  this.  But  in  a  larger  sense  we  can 
not  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow  this  ground. 
The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  conse 
crated  it  far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract.  The  world 
will  little  note,  nor  long  remember,  what  we  say  here,  but  it  can 
never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather  to 
be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished  work  which  they  who  fought 
here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be 
here  dedicated  to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us,  —  that  from 
these  honored  dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for 
which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion,  —  that  we  here 
highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain,  —  that 
this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom,  —  and 
that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall 
not  perish  from  the  earth. 


292        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  SECOND  INAUGURAL  ADDRESS 
DELIVERED  MARCH  4,  1865 

FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN  :  At  this  second  appearing  to  take  the 
oath  of  the  Presidential  office,  there  is  less  occasion  for  an  ex 
tended  address  than  there  was  at  the  first.  Then,  a  statement, 
somewhat  in  detail,  of  a  course  to  be  pursued,  seemed  fitting  and 
proper.  Now,  at  the  expiration  of  four  years,  during  which  public 
declarations  have  been  constantly  called  forth  on  every  point  and 
phase  of  the  great  contest  which  still  absorbs  the  attention  and 
engrosses  the  energies  of  the  nation,  little  that  is  new  could  be 
presented.  The  progress  of  our  arms,  upon  which  all  else  chiefly 
depends,  is  as  well  known  to  the  public  as  to  myself ;  and  it  is,  I 
trust,  reasonably  satisfactory  and  encouraging  to  all.  With  high 
hope  for  the  future,  no  prediction  in  regard  to  it  is  ventured. 

On  the  occasion  corresponding  to  this  four  years  ago,  all 
thoughts  were  anxiously  directed  to  an  impending  civil  war.  All 
dreaded  it ;  all  sought  to  avert  it.  While  the  inaugural  address 
was  being  delivered  from  this  place,  devoted  altogether  to  saving 
the  Union  without  war,  insurgent  agents  were  in  the  city  seeking 
to  destroy  it  without  war  —  seeking  to  dissolve  the  Union,  and 
divide  effects,  by  negotiation.  Both  parties  deprecated  war ;  but 
one  of  them  would  make  war  rather  than  let  the  nation  survive ; 
and  the  other  would  accept  war  rather  than  let  it  perish.  And  the 
war  came. 

One-eighth  of  the  whole  population  were  colored  slaves,  not 
distributed  generally  over  the  Union,  but  localized  in  the  southern 
part  of  it.  These  slaves  constituted  a  peculiar  and  powerful  inter 
est.  All  knew  that  this  interest  was,  somehow,  the  cause  of  the 
war.  To  strengthen,  perpetuate,  and  extend  this  interest  was  the 
object  for  which  the  insurgents  would  rend  the  Union,  even  by 
war ;  while  the  Government  claimed  no  right  to  do  more  than  to 
restrict  the  territorial  enlargement  of  it.  Neither  party  expected 
for  the  war  the  magnitude  or  the  duration  which  it  has  already 
attained.  Neither  anticipated  that  the  cause  of  the  conflict  might 
cease  with,  or  even  before,  the  conflict  itself  should  cease.  Each 
looked  for  an  easier  triumph,  and  a  result  less  fundamental  and 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  293 

astounding.  Both  read  the  same  Bible,  and  pray  to  the  same  God  ; 
and  each  invokes  His  aid  against  the  other.  It  may  seem  strange 
that  any  men  should  dare  to  ask  a  just  God's  assistance  in  wring 
ing  their  bread  from  the  sweat  of  other  men's  faces  :  but  let  us 
judge  not,  that  we  be  not  judged.  The  prayers  of  both  could 
not  be  answered ;  that  of  neither  has  been  answered  fully.  The 
Almighty  has  His  own  purposes.  "  Woe  unto  the  world  because 
of  offenses !  for  it  must  needs  be  that  offenses  come  ;  but  woe 
to  that  man  by  whom  the  offense  cometh."  If  we  shall  suppose 
American  Slavery  is  one  of  those  offenses  which,  in  the  provi 
dence  of  God,  must  needs  come,  but  which,  having  continued 
through  His  appointed  time,  He  now  wills  to  remove,  and  that 
He  gives  to  both  North  and  South  this  terrible  war,  as  the  woe 
due  to  those  by  whom  the  offense  came,  shall  we  discern  therein 
any  departure  from  those  divine  attributes  which  the  believers  in 
a  living  God  always  ascribe  to  Him  ?  Fondly  do  we  hope,  fer 
vently  do  we  pray,  that  this  mighty  scourge  of  war  may  speedily 
pass  away.  Yet,  if  God  wills  that  it  continue  until  all  the  wealth 
piled  by  the  bondman's  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  of  unrequited 
toil  shall  be  sunk,  and  until  every  drop  of  blood  drawn  with  the 
lash  shall  be  paid  by  another  drawn  with  the  sword,  as  was  said 
three  thousand  years  ago,  so  still  it  must  be  said,  "  The  judgments 
of  the  Lord  are  true  and  righteous  altogether." 

With  malice  toward  none,  with  charity  for  all,  with  firmness  in 
the  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  let  us  strive 'on  to 
finish  the  work  we  are  in ;  to  bind  up  the  nation's  wounds  ;  to 
care  for  him  who  shall  have  borne  the  battle,  and  for  his  widow, 
and  his  orphan ;  to  do  all  which  may  achieve  and  cherish  a  just 
and  a  lasting  peace  among  ourselves  and  with  all  nations. 


294        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

WILLIAM  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 

[Born  at  Salem,  Massachusetts,  May  4,  1 796 ;  died  at  Boston,  Massachusetts, 

January  28,  1859] 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  MEXICO  (EXTRACTS) 

VOL.  II,  BOOK  V,  CHAP.  II 

1520 

Opposite  to  the  Spanish  quarters,  at  only  a  few  rods'  distance, 
stood  the  great  teocalli  of  Huitzilopotchli.  This  pyramidal  mound, 
with  the  sanctuaries  that  crowned  it,  rising  altogether  to  the  height 
of  near  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  afforded  an  elevated  position  that 
completely  commanded  the  palace  of  Axayacatl,  occupied  by  the 
Christians.  A  body  of  five  or  six  hundred  Mexicans,  many  of  them 
nobles  and  warriors  of  the  highest  rank,  had  got  possession  of  the 
teocalli,  whence  they  discharged  such  a  tempest  of  arrows  on  the 
garrison,  that  no  one  could  leave  his  defences  for  a  moment  with 
out  imminent  danger ;  while  the  Mexicans,  under  shelter  of  the 
sanctuaries,  were  entirely  covered  from  the  fire  of  the  besieged. 
It  was  obviously  necessary  to  dislodge  the  enemy,  if  the  Spaniards 
would  remain  longer  in  their  quarters. 

Cortes  assigned  this  service  to  his  chamberlain  Escobar,  giving 
him  a  hundred  men  for  the  purpose,  with  orders  to  storm  the  teo 
calli,  and  set  fire  to  the  sanctuaries.  But  that  officer  was  thrice 
repulsed  in  the  attempt,  and,  after  the  most  desperate  efforts,  was 
obliged  to  return  with  considerable  loss  and  without  accomplishing 
his  object. 

Cortes,  who  saw  the  immediate  necessity  of  carrying  the  place, 
determined  to  lead  the  storming  party  himself.  He  was  then  suffer 
ing  much  from  the  wound  in  his  left  hand,  which  had  disabled  it  for 
the  present.  He  made  the  arm  serviceable,  however,  by  fastening 
his  buckler  to  it,  and,  thus  crippled,  sallied  out  at  the  head  of  three 
hundred  chosen  cavaliers,  and  several  thousand  of  his  auxiliaries. 

In  the  court-yard  of  the  temple  he  found  a  numerous  body 
of  Indians  prepared  to  dispute  his  passage.  He  briskly  charged 
them,  but  the  flat,  smooth  stones  of  the  pavement  were  so  slippery 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  295 

that  the  horses  lost  their  footing  and  many  of  them  fell.  Hastily 
dismounting,  they  sent  back  the  animals  to  their  quarters,  and, 
renewing  the  assault,  the  Spaniards  succeeded  without  much  diffi 
culty  in  dispersing  the  Indian  warriors,  and  opening  a  free  passage 
for  themselves  to  the  teocalli.  This  building,  as  the  reader  may 
remember,  was  a  large  pyramidal  structure,  about  three  hundred 
feet  square  at  the  base.  A  flight  of  stone  steps  on  the  outside,  at 
one  of  the  angles  of  the  mound,  led  to  a  platform,  or  terraced  walk, 
which  passed  round  the  building  until  it  reached  a  similar  flight  of 
stairs  directly  over  the  preceding,  that  conducted  to  another  landing 
as  before.  As  there  were  five  bodies  or  divisions  of  the  teocalli,  it 
became  necessary  to  pass  round  its  whole  extent  four  times,  or  nearly 
a  mile,  in  order  to  reach  the  summit,  which,  it  may  be  recollected, 
was  an  open  area,  crowned  only  by  the  two  sanctuaries  dedicated 
to  the  Aztec  deities. 

Cortes,  having  cleared  a  way  for  the  assault,  sprang  up  the  lower 
stairway,  followed  by  Alvarado,  Sandoval,  Ordaz,  and  the  other  gal 
lant  cavaliers  of  his  little  band,  leaving  a  file  of  arquebusiers  and  a 
strong  corps  of  Indian  allies  to  hold  the  enemy  in  check  at  the  foot 
of  the  monument.  On  the  first  landing,  as  well  as  on  the  several 
galleries  above,  and  on  the  summit,  the  Aztec  warriors  were  drawn 
up  to  dispute  his  passage.  From  their  elevated  position  they  show 
ered  down  volleys  of  lighter  missiles,  together  with  heavy  stones, 
beams,  and  burning  rafters,  which,  thundering  along  the  stairway, 
overturned  the  ascending  Spaniards,  and  carried  desolation  through 
their  ranks.  The  more  fortunate,  eluding  or  springing  over  these 
obstacles,  succeeded  in  gaining  the  first  terrace,  where,  throwing 
themselves  on  their  enemies,  they  compelled  them,  after  a  short 
resistance,  to  fall  back.  The  assailants  pressed  on,  effectually 
supported  by  a  brisk  fire  of  the  musketeers  from  below,  which  so 
much  galled  the  Mexicans  in  their  exposed  situation,  that  they 
were  glad  to  take  shelter  on  the  broad  summit  of  the  teocalli. 

Coitus  and  his  comrades  were  close  upon  their  rear,  and  the  two 
parties  soon  found  themselves  face  to  face  on  this  aerial  battle-field, 
engaged  in  mortal  combat  in  presence  of  the  whole  city,  as  well  as 
of  the  troops  in  the  court-yard,  who  paused,  as  if  by  mutual  consent, 
from  their  own  hostilities,  gazing  in  silent  expectation  on  the  issue 


296        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  those  above.  The  area,  though  somewhat  smaller  than  the  base 
of  the  teocalli,  was  large  enough  to  afford  a  fair  field  of  fight  for 
a  thousand  combatants.  It  was  paved  with  broad,  flat  stones.  No 
impediment  occurred  over  its  surface,  except  the  huge  sacrificial 
block,  and  the  temples  of  stone  which  rose  to  the  height  of  forty 
feet,  at  the  further  extremity  of  the  arena.  One  of  these  had  been 
consecrated  to  the  Cross ;  the  other  was  still  occupied  by  the  Mexican 
war-god.  The  Christian  and  the  Aztec  contended  for  their  religions 
under  the  very  shadow  of  their  respective  shrines  ;  while  the  Indian 
priests,  running  to  and  fro,  with  their  hair  wildly  streaming  over 
their  sable  mantles,  seemed  hovering  in  mid  air,  like  so  many  demons 
of  darkness  urging  on  the  work  of  slaughter ! 

The  parties  closed  with  the  desperate  fury  of  men  who  had  no 
hope  but  in  victory.  Quarter  was  neither  asked  nor  given  ;  and  to 
fly  was  impossible.  The  edge  of  the  area  was  unprotected  by  para 
pet  or  battlement.  The  least  slip  would  be  -fatal ;  and  the  combat 
ants,  as  they  struggled  in  mortal  agony,  were  sometimes  seen  to 
roll  over  the  sheer  sides  of  the  precipice  together.  Cortes  himself 
is  said  to  have  had  a  narrow  escape  from  this  dreadful  fate.  Two 
warriors,  of  strong,  muscular  frames,  seized  on  him,  and  were  drag 
ging  him  violently  towards  the  brink  of  the  pyramid.  Aware  of  their 
intention,  he  struggled  with  all  his  force,  and,  before  they  could 
accomplish  their  purpose,  succeeded  in  tearing  himself  from  their 
grasp,  and  hurling  one  of  them  over  the  walls  with  his  own 
arm !  The  story  is  not  improbable  in  itself,  for  Cortes  was  a  man 
of  uncommon  agility  and  strength.  It  has  been  often  repeated, 
but  not  by  contemporary  history. 

The  battle  lasted  with  unintermitting  fury  for  three  hours.  The 
number  of  the  enemy  was  double  that  of  the  Christians  ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  it  were  a  contest  which  must  be  determined  by  num 
bers  and  brute  force,  rather  than  by  superior  science.  But  it  was 
not  so:  The  invulnerable  armour  of  the  Spaniard,  his  sword  of 
matchless  temper,  and  his  skill  in  the  use  of  it,  gave  him  advan 
tages  which  far  outweighed  the  odds  of  physical  strength  and 
numbers.  After  doing  all  that  the  courage  of  despair  could 
enable  men  to  do,  resistance  grew  fainter  and  fainter  on  the  side 
of  the  Aztecs.  One  after  another  they  had  fallen.  Two  or  three 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  297 

priests  only  survived  to  be  led  away  in  triumph  by  the  victors. 
Every  other  combatant  was  stretched  a  corpse  on  the  bloody 
arena,  or  had  been  hurled  from  the  giddy  heights.  Yet  the  loss 
of  the  Spaniards  was  not  inconsiderable.  It  amounted  to  forty- 
five  of  their  best  men,  and  nearly  all  the  remainder  were  more 
or  less  injured  in  the  desperate  conflict. 

The  victorious  cavaliers  now  rushed  towards  the  sanctuaries. 
The  lower  story  was  of  stone ;  the  two  upper  were  of  wood. 
Penetrating  into  their  recesses,  they  had  the  mortification  to  find 
the  image  of  the  Virgin  and  the  Cross  removed.  But  in  the  other 
edifice  they  still  beheld  the  grim  figure  of  Huitzilopotchli,  with  his 
censer  of  smoking  hearts,  and  the  walls  of  his  oratory  reeking  with 
gore,  —  not  improbably  of  their  own  countrymen  !  With  shouts  of 
triumph  the  Christians  tore  the  uncouth  monster  from  his  niche, 
and  tumbled  him,  in  the  presence  of  the  horror-struck  Aztecs, 
down  the  steps  of  the  teocalli.  They  then  set  fire  to  the  accursed 
building.  The  flame  speedily  ran  up  the  slender  towers,  sending 
forth  an  ominous  light  over  city,  lake,  and  valley,  to  the  remotest 
hut  among  the  mountains.  It  was  the  funeral  pyre  of  paganism, 
and  proclaimed  the  fall  of  that  sanguinary  religion  which  'had  so 
long  hung  like  a  dark  cloud  over  the  fair  regions  of  Anahuac  ! 
********** 

It  is  not  easy  to  depict  the  portrait  of  Montezuma  in  its  true 
colours,  since  it  has  been  exhibited  to  us  under  two  aspects,  of  the 
most  opposite  and  contradictory  character.  In  the  accounts  gathered 
of  him  by  the  Spaniards,  on  coming  into  the  country,  he  was  uni 
formly  represented  as  bold  and  warlike,  unscrupulous  as  to  the 
means  of  gratifying  his  ambition,  hollow  and  perfidious,  the  terror 
of  his  foes,  with  a  haughty  bearing  which  made  him  feared  even 
by  his  own  people.  They  found  him,  on  the  contrary,  not  merely 
affable  and  gracious,  but  disposed  to  waive  all  the  advantages  of 
his  own  position,  and  to  place  them  on  a  footing  with  himself ; 
making  their  wishes  his  law  ;  gentle  even  to  effeminacy  in  his  de 
portment,  and  constant  in  his  friendship,  while  his  whole  nation 
was  in  arms  against  them.  —  Yet  these  traits,  so  contradictory,  were 
truly  enough  drawn.  They  are  to  be  explained  by  the  extraordinary 
circumstances  of  his  position. 


298        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

When  Montezuma  ascended  the  throne,  he  was  scarcely  twenty- 
three  years  of  age.  Young,  and  ambitious  of  extending  his  empire, 
he  was  continually  engaged  in  war,  and  is  said  to  have  been  present 
himself  in  nine  pitched  battles.  He  was  greatly  renowned  for  his 
martial  prowess,  for  he  belonged  to  the  Quachictin,  the  highest 
military  order  of  his  nation,  and  one  into  which  but  few  even  of 
its  sovereigns  had  been  admitted.  In  later  life,  he  preferred  intrigue 
to  violence,  as  more  consonant  to  his  character  and  priestly  education. 
In  this  he  was  as  great  an  adept  as  any  prince  of  his  time,  and, 
by  arts  not  very  honourable  to  himself,  succeeded  in  niching  away 
much  of  the  territory  of  his  royal  kinsman  of  Tezcuco.  Severe  in 
the  administration  of  justice,  he  made  important  reforms  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  tribunals.  He  introduced  other  innovations  in 
the  royal  household,  creating  new  offices,  introducing  a  lavish  mag 
nificence  and  forms  of  courtly  etiquette  unknown  to  his  ruder 
predecessors.  He  was,  in  short,  most  attentive  to  all  that  concerned 
the  exterior  and  pomp  of  royalty.  Stately  and  decorous,  he  was 
careful  of  his  own  dignity,  and  might  be  said  to  be  as  great  an 
"actor  of  majesty"  among  the  barbarian  potentates  of  the  New 
World,  as  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  among  the  polished  princes 
of  Europe. 

He  was  deeply  tinctured,  moreover,  with  that  spirit  of  bigotry, 
which  threw  such  a  shade  over  the  latter  days  of  the  French 
monarch.  He  received  the  Spaniards  as  the  beings  predicted  by 
his  oracles.  The  anxious  dread,  with  which  he  had  evaded  their 
proffered  visit,  was  founded  on  the  same  feelings  which  led  him 
so  blindly  to  resign  himself  to  them  on  their  approach.  He  felt 
himself  rebuked  by  their  superior  genius.  He  at  once  conceded 
all  that  they  demanded,  —  his  treasures,  his  power,  even  his  person. 
For  their  sake,  he  forsook  his  wonted  occupations,  his  pleasures, 
his  most  familiar  habits.  He  might  be  said  to  forego  his  nature ; 
and,  as  his  subjects  asserted,  to  change  his  sex  and  become  a 
woman.  If  we  cannot  refuse  our  contempt  for  the  pusillanimity 
of  the  Aztec  monarch,  it  should  be  mitigated  by  the  consideration, 
that  his  pusillanimity  sprung  from  his  superstition,  and  that  super 
stition  in  the  savage  is  the  substitute  for  religious  principle  in 
the  civilised  man. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  299 

It  is  not  easy  to  contemplate  the  fate  of  Montezuma  without 
feelings  of  the  strongest  compassion ;  —  to  see  him  thus  borne 
along  the  tide  of  events  beyond  his  power  to  avert  or  control ;  to 
see  him,  like  some  stately  tree,  the  pride  of  his  own  Indian  forests, 
towering  aloft  in  the  pomp  and  majesty  of  its  branches,  by  its  very 
eminence  a  mark  for  the  thunderbolt,  the  first  victim  of  the  tempest 
which  was  to  sweep  over  its  native  hills !  When  the  wise  king  of 
Tezcuco  addressed  his  royal  relative  at  his  coronation,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Happy  the  empire,  which  is  now  in  the  meridian  of  its  prosperity, 
for  the  sceptre  is  given  to  one  whom  the  Almighty  has  in  his 
keeping  ;  and  the  nations  shall  hold  him  in  reverence  !  "  Alas  !  the 
subject  of  this  auspicious  invocation  lived  to  see  his  empire  melt 
away  like  the  winter's  wreath  ;  to  see  a  strange  race  drop,  as  it  were, 
from  the  clouds  on  his  land  ;  to  find  himself  a  prisoner  in  the  palace 
of  his  fathers,  the  companion  of  those  who  were  the  enemies  of  his 
gods  and  his  people ;  to  be  insulted,  reviled,  trodden  in  the  dust, 
by  the  meanest  of  his  subjects,  by  those  who,  a  few  months  previous, 
had  trembled  at  his  glance  ;  drawing  his  last  breath  in  the  halls  of 
the  stranger,  a  lonely  outcast  in  the  heart  of  his  own  capital !  He 
was  the  sad  victim  of  destiny,  —  a  destiny  as  dark  and  irresistible 
in  its  march,  as  that  which  broods  over  the  mythic  legends  of 
antiquity ! 

Montezuma,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  was  about  forty-one  years 
old,  of  which  he  reigned  eighteen.  His  person  and  manners  have 
been  already  described.  He  left  a  numerous  progeny  by  his  various 
wives,  most  of  whom,  having  lost  their  consideration  after  the 
Conquest,  fell  into  obscurity  as  they  mingled  with  the  mass  of  the 
Indian  population.  Two  of  them,  however,  a  son  and  a  daughter, 
who  embraced  Christianity,  became  the  founders  of  noble  houses 
in  Spain.  The  government,  willing  to  show  its  gratitude  for  the 
large  extent  of  empire  derived  from  their  ancestor,  conferred  on 
them  ample  estates,  and  important  hereditary  honours  ;  and  the 
Counts  of  Montezuma  and  Tula,  intermarrying  with  the  best  blood 
of  Castile,  intimated  by  their  names  and  titles  their  illustrious 
descent  from  the  royal  dynasty  of  Mexico. 

Montezuma's  death  was  a  misfortune  to  the  Spaniards.  While 
he  lived,  they  had  a  precious  pledge  in  their  hands,  which,  in 


300        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

extremity,  they  might  possibly  have  turned  to  account.  Now  the 
last  link  was  snapped  which  connected  them  with  the  natives  of  the 
country.  But  independently  of  interested  feelings,  Cortes  and  his 
officers  were  much  affected  by  his  death  from  personal  consider 
ations  ;  and,  when  they  gazed  on  the  cold  remains  of  the  ill-starred 
monarch,  they  may  have  felt  a  natural  compunction  as  they  con 
trasted  his  late  flourishing  condition  with  that  to  which  his  friendship 
for  them  had  now  reduced  him. 

The  Spanish  commander  showed  all  respect  for  his  memory. 
His  body,  arrayed  in  its  royal  robes,  was  laid  decently  on  a  bier, 
and  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  his  nobles  to  his  subjects  in  the  city. 
What  honours,  if  any,  indeed,  were  paid  to  his  remains,  is  uncertain. 
A  sound  of  wailing,  distinctly  heard  in  the  western  quarters  of  the 
capital,  was  interpreted  by  the  Spaniards  into  the  moans  of  a  funeral 
procession,  as  it  bore  the  body  to  be  laid  among  those  of  his  an 
cestors,  under  the  princely  shades  of  Chapoltepec.  Others  state, 
that  it  was  removed  to  a  burial-place  in  the  city  named  Copalco, 
and  there  burnt  with  the  usual  solemnities  and  signs  of  lamentation 
by  his  chiefs,  but  not  without  some  unworthy  insults  from  the 
Mexican  populace.  Whatever  be  the  fact,  the  people,  occupied  with 
the  stirring  scenes  in  which  they  were  engaged,  were  probably  not 
long  mindful  of  the  monarch,  who  had  taken  no  share  in  their  late 
patriotic  movements.  Nor  is  it  strange  that  the  very  memory  of 
his  sepulchre  should  be  effaced  in  the  terrible  catastrophe  which 
afterwards  overwhelmed  the  capital,  and  swept  away  every  landmark 
from  its  surface. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  301 


JOHN   LOTHROP  MOTLEY- 

[Born  at  Dorchester,  Massachusetts,  April  15,  1814;  died  at  Dorset,  England, 

May  29,  1877] 

THE   RISE   OF  THE   DUTCH    REPUBLIC 
VOL.  I,  CHAP.  I,  PAR.  1-15 

On  the  twenty-fifth  day  of  October,  1555,  the  estates  of  the 
Netherlands  were  assembled  in  the  great  hall  of  the  palace  at 
Brussels.  They  had  been  summoned  to  be  the 'witnesses  and  the 
guarantees  of  the  abdication  which  Charles  V.  had  long  before 
resolved  upon,  and  which  he  was  that  day  to  execute.  The  Em 
peror,  like  many  potentates  before  and  since,  was  fond  of  great 
political  spectacles.  He  knew  their  influence  upon  the  masses  of 
mankind.  Although  plain,  even  to  shabbiness,  in  his  own  costume, 
and  usually  attired  in  black,  no  one  ever  understood  better  than 
he  how  to  arrange  such  exhibitions  in  a  striking  and  artistic  style. 
We  have  seen  the  theatrical  and  imposing  manner  in  which  he 
quelled  the  insurrection  at  Ghent,  and  nearly  crushed  the'  life  for 
ever  out  of  that  vigorous  and  turbulent  little  commonwealth.  The 
closing  scene  of  his  long  and  energetic  reign  he  had  now  arranged 
with  profound  study,  and  with  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  man 
ner  in  which  the  requisite  effects  were  to  be  produced.  The  termi 
nation  of  his  own  career,  the  opening  of  his  beloved  Philip's,  were 
to  be  dramatized  in  a  manner  worthy  the  august  character  of  the 
actors,  and  the  importance  of  the  great  stage  where  they  played 
their  parts.  The  eyes  of  the  whole  world  were  directed  upon  that 
day  towards  Brussels  ;  for  an  imperial  abdication  was  an  event 
which  had  not,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  been  staled  by  custom. 

The  gay  capital  of  Brabant,  of  that  province  which  rejoiced  in 
the  liberal  constitution  known  by  the  cheerful  title  of  the  "joyful 
entrance,"  was  worthy  to  be  the  scene  of  the  imposing  show. 
Brussels  had  been  a  city  for  more  than  five  centuries,  and,  at  that 
day,  numbered  about  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants.  Its  walls, 
six  miles  in  circumference,  were  already  two  hundred  years  old. 
Unlike  most  Netherland  cities,  lying  usually  upon  extensive  plains, 


302        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

it  was  built  along  the  sides  of  an  abrupt  promontory.  A  wide  ex 
panse  of  living  verdure,  cultivated  gardens,  shady  groves,  fertile 
corn-fields,  flowed  round  it  like  a  sea.  The  foot  of  the  town  was 
washed  by  the  little  river  Senne,  while  the  irregular  but  picturesque 
streets  rose  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  hill  like  the  semicircles  and 
stairways  of  an  amphitheatre.  Nearly  in  the  heart  of  the  place 
rose  the  audacious  and  exquisitely  embroidered  tower  of  the  town- 
house,  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  feet  in  height,  a  miracle  of 
needlework  in  stone,  rivalling  in  its  intricate  carving  the  cobweb 
tracery  of  that  lace  which  has  for  centuries  been  synonymous  with 
the  city,  and  rearing  itself  above  a  fagade  of  profusely  decorated 
and  brocaded  architecture.  The  crest  of  the  elevation  was  crowned 
by  the  towers  of  the  old  ducal  palace  of  Brabant,  with  its  extensive 
and  thickly  wooded  park  on  the  left,  and  by  the  stately  mansions 
of  Orange,  Egmont,  Aremberg,  Culemburg,  and  other  Flemish 
grandees,  on  the  right.  The  great  forest  of  Soignies,  dotted  with 
monasteries  and  convents,  swarming  with  every  variety  of  game, 
whither  the  citizens  made  their  summer  pilgrimages,  and  where 
the  nobles  chased  the  wild  boar  and  the  stag,  extended  to  within 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  city  walls.  The  population,  as  thrifty,  as 
intelligent,  as  prosperous  as  that  of  any  city  in  Europe,  was  divided 
into  fifty-two  guilds  of  artisans,  among  which  the  most  important 
were  the  armorers,  whose  suits  of  mail  would  turn  a  musket-ball ; 
the  gardeners,  upon  whose  gentler  creations  incredible  sums  were 
annually  lavished ;  and  the  tapestry-workers,  whose  gorgeous  fabrics 
were  the  wonder  of  the  world.  Seven  principal  churches,  of  which 
the  most  striking  was  that  of  St.  Gudule,  with  its  twin  towers,  its 
charming  fagade,  and  its  magnificently  painted  windows,  adorned 
the  upper  part  of  the  city.  The  number  seven  was  a  magic  num 
ber  in  Brussels,  and  was  supposed  at  that  epoch,  during  which 
astronomy  was  in  its  infancy  and  astrology  in  its  prime,  to  denote 
the  seven  planets  which  governed  all  things  terrestrial  by  their 
aspects  and  influences.  Seven  noble  families,  springing  from  seven 
ancient  castles,  supplied  the  stock  from  which  the  seven  senators 
were  selected  who  composed  the  upper  council  of  the  city.  There 
were  seven  great  squares,  seven  city  gates,  and  upon  the  occasion 
of  the  present  ceremony,  it  was  observed  by  the  lovers  of  wonderful 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  303 

coincidences,   that  seven   crowned  heads  would  be  congregated 
under  a  single  roof  in  the  liberty-loving  city. 

The  palace  where  the  states-general  were  upon  this  occasion 
convened,  had  been  the  residence  of  the  Dukes  of  Brabant  since 
the  days  of  John  the  Second,  who  had  built  it  about  the  year  1 300. 
It  was  a  spacious  and  convenient  building,  but  not  distinguished 
for  the  beauty  of  its  architecture.  In  front  was  a  large  open  square, 
enclosed  by  an  iron  railing ;  in  the  rear  an  extensive  and  beautiful 
park,  filled  with  forest  trees,  and  containing  gardens  and  labyrinths, 
fish-ponds  and  game  preserves,  fountains  and  promenades,  race 
courses  and  archery  grounds.  The  main  entrance  to  this  edifice 
opened  upon  a  spacious  hall,  connected  with  a  beautiful  and  sym 
metrical  chapel.  The  hall  was  celebrated  for  its  size,  harmonious 
proportions,  and  the  richness  of  its  decorations.  It  was  the  place 
where  the  chapters  of  the  famous  order  of  the  Golden  Fleece  were 
held.  Its  walls  were  hung  with  a  magnificent  tapestry  of  Arras, 
representing  the  life  and  achievements  of  Gideon,  the  Midianite, 
and  giving  particular  prominence  to  the  miracle  of  the  "  fleece 
of  wool,"  vouchsafed  to  that  renowned  champion,  the  great  patron 
of  the  Knights  of  the  Fleece.  On  the  present  occasion  there  were 
various  additional  embellishments  of  flowers  and  votive  garlands. 
At  the  western  end  a  spacious  platform  or  stage,  with  six  or  seven 
steps,  had  been  constructed,  below  which  was  a  range  of  benches 
for  the  deputies  of  the  seventeen  provinces.  Upon  the  stage  itself 
there  were  rows  of  seats,  covered  with  tapestry,  upon  the  right 
hand  and  upon  the  left.  These  were  respectively  to  accommodate 
the  knights  of  the  order  and  the  guests  of  high  distinction.  In  the 
rear  of  these  were  other  benches,  for  the  members  of  the  three 
great  councils.  In  the  centre  of  the  stage  was  a  splendid  canopy, 
decorated  with  the  arms  of  Burgundy,  beneath  which  were  placed 
three  gilded  arm-chairs.  All  the  seats  upon  the  platform  were 
vacant,  but  the  benches  below,  assigned  to  the  deputies  of  the 
provinces,  were  already  filled.  Numerous  representatives  from 
all  the  states  but  two  —  Gelderland  and  Overyssel  —  had  already 
taken  their  places.  Grave  magistrates,  in  chain  and  gown,  and 
executive  officers  in  the  splendid  civic  uniforms  for  which  the 
Netherlands  were  celebrated,  already  filled  every  seat  within  the 


304        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

space  allotted.  The  remainder  of  the  hall  was  crowded  with  the 
more  favored  portion  of  the  multitude  which  had  been  fortunate 
enough  to  procure  admission  to  the  exhibition.  The*  archers  and 
hallebardiers  of  the  body-guard  kept  watch  at  all  the  doors. 
The  theatre  was  filled  —  the  audience  was  eager  with  expectation 
—  the  actors  were  yet  to  arrive.  As  the  clock  struck  three,  the 
hero  of  the  scene  appeared.  Caesar,  as  he  was  always  designated 
in  the  classic  language  of  the  day,  entered,  leaning  on  the  shoulder 
of  William  of  Orange.  They  came  from  the  chapel,  and  were 
immediately  followed  by  Philip  the  Second  and  Queen  Mary  of 
Hungary.  The  Archduke  Maximilian,  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  and 
other  great  personages  came  afterwards,  accompanied  by  a  glit 
tering  throng  of  warriors,  councillors,  governors,  and  Knights 
of  the  Fleece. 

Many  individuals  of  existing  or  future  historic  celebrity  in  the 
Netherlands,  whose  names  are  so  familiar  to  the  student  of  the 
epoch,  seemed  to  have  been  grouped,  as  if  by  premeditated  design, 
upon  this  imposing  platform,  where  the  curtain  was  to  fall  forever 
upon  the  mightiest  emperor  since  Charlemagne,  and  where  the 
opening  scene  of  the  long  and  tremendous  tragedy  of  Philip's 
reign  was  to  be  simultaneously  enacted.  There  was  the  Bishop 
of  Arras,  soon  to  be  known  throughout  Christendom  by  the  more 
celebrated  title  of  Cardinal  Granvelle,  the  serene  and  smiling  priest 
whose  subtle  influence  over  the  destinies  of  so  many  individuals 
then  present,  and  over  the  fortunes  of  the  whole  land,  was  to  be 
so  extensive  and  so  deadly.  There  was  that  flower  of  Flemish 
chivalry,  the  lineal  descendant  of  ancient  Frisian  kings,  already 
distinguished  for  his  bravery  in  many  fields,  but  not  having  yet  won 
those  two  remarkable  victories  which  were  soon  to  make  the  name 
of  Egmont  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  throughout  the  whole  country. 
Tall,  magnificent  in  costume,  with  dark  flowing  hair,  soft  brown 
eye,  smooth  cheek,  a  slight  moustache,  and  features  of  almost  fem 
inine  delicacy  ;  such  was  the  gallant  and  ill-fated  Lamoral  Egmont. 
The  Count  of  Horn,  too,  with  bold,  sullen  face,  and  fan-shaped 
beard  —  a  brave,  honest,  discontented,  quarrelsome,  unpopular 
man ;  those  other  twins  in  doom  —  the  Marquis  Berghen  and 
the  Lord  of  Montigny ;  the  Baron  Berlaymont,  brave,  intensely 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  305 

loyal,  insatiably  greedy  for  office  and  wages,  but  who,  at  least, 
never  served  but  one  party ;  the  Duke  of  Arschot,  who  was  to 
serve  all,  essay  to  rule  all,  and  to  betray  all  —  a  splendid  seignior, 
magnificent  in  cramoisy  velvet,  but  a  poor  creature,  who  traced 
his  pedigree  from  Adam,  according  to  the  family  monumental  in 
scriptions  at  Louvain,  but  who  was  better  known  as  grand-nephew 
of  the  emperor's  famous  tutor,  Chievres  ;  the  bold,  debauched 
Brederode,  with  handsome,  reckless  face  and  turbulent  demeanor; 
the  infamous  Noircarmes,  whose  name  was  to  be  covered  with 
eternal  execration,  for  aping  towards  his  own  compatriots  and 
kindred  as  much  of  Alva's  atrocities  and  avarice,  as  he  was  per 
mitted  to  exercise ;  the  distinguished  soldiers  Meghen  and  Arem- 
berg  —  these,  with  many  others  whose  deeds  of  arms  were  to  be 
come  celebrated  throughout  Europe,  were  all  conspicuous  in  the 
brilliant  crowd.  There,  too,  was  that  learned  Frisian,  President 
Viglius,  crafty,  plausible,  adroit,  eloquent  —  a  small,  brisk  man, 
with  long  yellow  hair,  glittering  green  eyes,  round,  tumid,  rosy 
cheeks,  and  flowing  beard.  Foremost  among  the  Spanish  gran 
dees,  and  close  to  Philip,  stood  the  famous  favorite,  Ruy  Gomez, 
or,  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  "Re  y  Gomez"  (King  and  Gomez), 
a  man  of  meridional  aspect,  with  coal-black  hair  and  beard,  gleam 
ing  eyes,  a  face  pallid  with  intense  application,  and  slender  but 
handsome  figure ;  while  in  immediate  attendance  upon  the  em 
peror,  was  the  immortal  Prince  of  Orange. 

Such  were  a  few  only  of  the  most  prominent  in  that  gay  throng, 
whose  fortunes,  in  part,  it  will  be  our  humble  duty  to  narrate  ;  how 
many  of  them  passing  through  all  this  glitter  to  a  dark  and  myste 
rious  doom  !  —  some  to  perish  on  public  scaffolds,  some  by  mid 
night  assassination  ;  others,  fortunate  to  fall  on  the  battlefield  — 
nearly  all,  sooner  or  later,  to  be  laid  in  bloody  graves  ! 

All  the  company  present  had  risen  to  their  feet  as  the  Emperor 
entered.  By  his  command,  all  immediately  afterwards  resumed  their 
places.  The  benches  at  either  end  of  the  platform  were  accordingly 
filled  with  the  royal  and  princely  personages  invited,  with  the  Fleece 
Knights,  wearing  the  insignia  of  their  order,  with  the  members  of 
the  three  great  councils,  and  with  the  governors.  The  Emperor, 
the  King,  and  the  Queen  of  Hungary,  were  left  conspicuous  in  the 


306        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

centre  of  the  scene.  As  the  whole  object  of  the  ceremony  was  to 
present  an  impressive  exhibition,  it  is  worth  our  while  to  examine 
minutely  the  appearance  of  the  two  principal  characters. 

Charles  the  Fifth  was  then  fifty-five  years  and  eight  months  old  ; 
but  he  was  already  decrepit  with  premature  old  age.  He  was  of 
about  the  middle  height,  and  had  been  athletic  and  well-proportioned. 
Broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep  in  the  chest,  thin  in  the  flank,  very 
muscular  in  the  arms  and  legs,  he  had  been  able  to  match  himself 
with  all  competitors  in  the  tourney  and  the  ring,  and  to  vanquish 
the  bull  with  his  own  hand  in  the  favorite  national  amusement  of 
Spain.  He  had  been  able  in  the  field  to  do  the  duty  of  captain  and 
soldier,  to  endure  fatigue  and  exposure,  and  every  privation  except 
fasting.  These  personal  advantages  were  now  departed.  Crippled 
in  hands,  knees  and  legs,  he  supported  himself  with  difficulty  upon 
a  crutch,  with  the  aid  of  an  attendant's  shoulder.  In  face  he  had 
always  been  extremely  ugly,  and  time  had  certainly  not  improved 
his  physiognomy.  His  hair,  once  of  a  light  color,  was  now  white 
with  age,  close-clipped  and  bristling ;  his  beard  was  grey,  coarse, 
and  shaggy.  His  forehead  was  spacious  and  commanding ;  the 
eye  was  dark-blue,  with  an  expression  both  majestic  and  benignant. 
His  nose  was  aquiline  but  crooked.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was 
famous  for  its  deformity.  The  under  lip,  a  Burgundian  inheritance, 
as  faithfully  transmitted  as  the  duchy  and  county,  was  heavy  and 
hanging ;  the  lower  jaw  protruding  so  far  beyond  the  upper,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  bring  together  the  few  fragments  of 
teeth  which  still  remained,  or  to  speak  a  whole  sentence  in  an 
intelligible  voice.  Eating  and  talking,  occupations  to  which  he 
was  always  much  addicted,  were  becoming  daily  more  arduous,  in 
consequence  of  this  original  defect,  which  now  seemed  hardly 
human,  but  rather  an  original  deformity. 

So  much  for  the  father.  The  son,  Philip  the  Second,  was  a 
small,  meagre  man,  much  below  the  middle  height,  with  thin  legs, 
a  narrow  chest,  and  the  shrinking,  timid  air  of  an  habitual  invalid. 
He  seemed  so  little,  upon  his  first  visit  to  his  aunts,  the  Queens 
Eleanor  and  Mary,  accustomed  to  look  upon  proper  men  in 
Flanders  and  Germany,  that  he  was  fain  to  win  their  favor  by 
making  certain  attempts  in  the  tournament,  in  which  his  success 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  307 

was  sufficiently  problematical.  "  His  body,"  says  his  professed  pane 
gyrist,  "was  but  a  human  cage,  in  which,  however  brief  and  narrow, 
dwelt  a  soul  to  whose  flight  the  immeasurable  expanse  of  heaven 
was  too  contracted."  The  same  wholesale  admirer  adds,  that  "his 
aspect  was  so  reverend,  that  rustics  who  met  him  alone  in  a  wood, 
without  knowing  him,  bowed  down  with  instinctive  veneration." 
In  face,  he  was  the  living  image  of  his  father,  having  the  same 
broad  forehead,  and  blue  eye,  with  the  same  aquiline,  but  better 
proportioned,  nose.  In  the  lower  part  of  the  countenance,  the  re 
markable  Burgundian  deformity  was  likewise  reproduced.  He  had 
the  same  heavy,  hanging  lip,  with  a  vast  mouth,  and  monstrously 
protruding  lower  jaw.  His  complexion  was  fair,  his  hair  light  and 
thin,  his  beard  yellow,  short,  and  pointed.  He  had  the  aspect  of 
a  Fleming,  but  the  loftiness  of  a  Spaniard.  His  demeanor  in  public 
was  still,  silent,  almost  sepulchral.  He  looked  habitually  on  the 
ground  when  he  conversed,  was  chary  of  speech,  embarrassed,  and 
even  suffering  in  manner.  This  was  ascribed  partly  to  a  natural 
haughtiness  which  he  had  occasionally  endeavored  to  overcome, 
and  partly  to  habitual  pains  in  the  stomach,  occasioned  by  his 
inordinate  fondness  for  pastry. 

Such  was  the  personal  appearance  of  the  man  who  was  about 
to  receive  into  his  single  hand  the  destinies  of  half  the  world ; 
whose  single  will  was,  for  the  future,  to  shape  the  fortunes  of  every 
individual  then  present,  of  many  millions  more  in  Europe,  America, 
and  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  of  countless  millions  yet  unborn. 

The  three  royal  personages  being  seated  upon  chairs  placed 
triangularly  under  the  canopy,  such  of  the  audience  as  had  seats 
provided  for  them,  now  took  their  places,  and  the  proceedings 
commenced.  Philibert  de  Bruxelles,  a  member  of  the  privy  council 
of  the  Netherlands,  arose  at  the  emperor's  command,  and  made  a 
long  oration.  He  spoke  of  the  emperor's  warm  affection  for  the 
provinces,  as  the  land  of  his  birth ;  of  his  deep  regret  that  his 
broken  health  and  failing  powers,  both  of  body  and  mind,  com 
pelled  him  to  resign  his  sovereignty,  and  to  seek  relief  for  his 
shattered  frame  in  a  more  genial  climate.  Caesar's  gout  was  then 
depicted  in  energetic  language,  which  must  have  cost  him  a  twinge 
as  he  sat  there  and  listened  to  the  councillor's  eloquence.  "  'Tis 


308         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

a  most  truculent  executioner,"  said  Philibert :  "it  invades  the 
whole  body,  from  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the  soles  of  the  feet, 
leaving  nothing  untouched.  It  contracts  the  nerves  with  intolerable 
anguish,  it  enters  the  bones,  it  freezes  the  marrow,  it  converts  the 
lubricating  fluids  of  the  joints  into  chalk,  it  pauses  not  until,  hav 
ing  exhausted  and  debilitated  the  whole  body,  it  has  rendered  all 
its  necessary  instruments  useless,  and  conquered  the  mind  by  im 
mense  torture."  Engaged  in  mortal  struggle  with  such  an  enemy, 
Caesar  felt  himself  obliged,  as  the  councillor  proceeded  to  inform 
his  audience,  to  change  the  scene  of  the  contest  from  the  humid 
air  of  Flanders  to  the  warmer  atmosphere  of  Spain.  He  rejoiced, 
however,  that  his  son  was  both  vigorous  and  experienced,  and  that 
his  recent  marriage  with  the  Queen  of  England  had  furnished  the 
provinces  with  a  most  valuable  alliance.  He  then  again  referred 
to  the  Emperor's  boundless  love  for  his  subjects,  and  concluded 
with  a  tremendous,  but  superfluous,  exhortation  to  Philip  on  the 
necessity  of  maintaining  the  Catholic  religion  in  its  purity.  After 
this  long  harangue,  which  has  been  fully  reported  by  several  his 
torians  who  were  present  at  the  ceremony,  the  councillor  proceeded 
to  read  the  deed  of  cession,  by  which  Philip,  already  sovereign  of 
Sicily,  Naples,  Milan,  and  titular  King  of  England,  France,  and 
Jerusalem,  now  received  all  the  duchies,  marquisates,  earldoms, 
baronies,  cities,  towns,  and  castles  of  the  Burgundian  property, 
including,  of  course,  the  seventeen  Netherlands. 

As  De  Bruxelles  finished,  there  was  a  buzz  of  admiration 
throughout  the  assembly,  mingled  with  murmurs  of  regret,  that  in 
the  present  great  danger  upon  the  frontiers  from  the  belligerent 
King  of  France  and  his  warlike  and  restless  nation,  the  provinces 
should  be  left  without  their  ancient  and  puissant  defender.  The 
Emperor  then  rose  to  his  feet.  Leaning  on  his  crutch,  he  beckoned 
from  his  seat  the  personage  upon  whose  arm  he  had  leaned  as  he 
entered  the  hall.  A  tall,  handsome  youth  of  twenty-two  came  for 
ward  —  a  man  whose  name  from  that  time  forward,  and  as  long 
as  history  sha^l  endure,  has  been,  and  will  be,  more  familiar  than 
any  other  in  the  mouths  of  Netherlanders.  At  that  day  he  had 
rather  a  southern  than  a  German  or  Flemish  appearance.  He  had 
a  Spanish  cast  of  features,  dark,  well  chiselled,  and  symmetrical. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  309 

His  head  was  small  and  well  placed  upon  his  shoulders.  His  hair 
was  dark-brown,  as  were  also  his  moustache  and  peaked  beard. 
His  forehead  was  lofty,  spacious,  and  already  prematurely  engraved 
with  the  anxious  lines  of  thought.  His  eyes  were  full,  brown,  well 
opened,  and  expressive  of  profound  reflection.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  magnificent  apparel  for  which  the  Netherlander  were  cele 
brated  above  all  other  nations,  and  which  the  ceremony  rendered 
necessary.  His  presence  being  considered  indispensable  at  this 
great  ceremony,  he  had  been  summoned  but  recently  from  the 
camp  on  the  frontier,  where,  notwithstanding  his  youth,  the  em 
peror  had  appointed  him  to  command  his  army  in  chief  against 
such  antagonists  as  Admiral  Coligny  and  the  Due  de  Nevers. 

Thus  supported  upon  his  crutch  and  upon  the  shoulder  of 
William  of  Orange,  the  Emperor  proceeded  to  address  the  states, 
by  the  aid  of  a  closely-written  brief  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 
He  reviewed  rapidly  the  progress  of  events  from  his  seventeenth 
year  up  to  that  day.  He  spoke  of  his  nine  expeditions  into  Ger 
many,  six  to  Spain,  seven  to  Italy,  four  to  France,  ten  to  the 
Netherlands,  two  to  England,  as  many  to  Africa,  and  of  his  eleven 
voyages  by  sea.  He  sketched  his  various  wars,  victories,  and  treaties 
of  peace,  assuring  his  hearers  that  the  welfare  of  his  subjects 
and  the  security  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  had  ever  been 
the  leading  objects  of  his  life.  As  long  as  God  had  granted  him 
health,  he  continued,  only  enemies  could  have  regretted  that  Charles 
was  living  and  reigning,  but  now  that  his  strength  was  but  vanity, 
and  life  fast  ebbing  away,  his  love  for  dominion,  his  affection  for 
his  subjects,  and  his  regard  for  their  interests,  required  his  depar 
ture.  Instead  of  a  decrepit  man  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  he 
presented  them  with  a  sovereign  in  the  prime  of  life  and  the  vigor 
of  health.  Turning  toward  Philip,  he  observed,  that  for  a  dying 
father  to  bequeath  so  magnificent  an  empire  to  his  son  was  a  deed 
worthy  of  gratitude,  and  that  when  the  father  thus  descended  to 
the  grave  before  his  time,  and  by  an  anticipated  and  living  burial 
sought  to  provide  for  the  welfare  of  his  realms  and  the  grandeur 
of  his  son,  the  benefit  thus  conferred  was  surely  far  greater.  He 
added,  that  the  debt  would  be  paid  to  him  and  with  usury,  should 
Philip  conduct  himself  in  his  administration  of  the  province  with 


310        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

a  wise  and  affectionate  regard  to  their  true  interests.  Posterity 
would  applaud  his  abdication,  should  his  son  prove  worthy  of  his 
bounty ;  and  that  could  only  be  by  living  in  the  fear  of  God,  and 
by  maintaining  law,  justice,  and  the  Catholic  religion  in  all  their 
purity,  as  the  true  foundation  of  the  realm.  In  conclusion,  he 
entreated  the  estates,  and  through  them  the  nation,  to  render 
obedience  to  their  new  prince,  to  maintain  concord  and  to  pre 
serve  inviolate  the  Catholic  faith  ;  begging  them,  at  the  same 
time,  to  pardon  him  all  errors  or  offences  which  he  might  have 
committed  towards  them  during  his  reign,  and  assuring  them  that 
he  should  unceasingly  remember  their  obedience  and  affection  in 
his  every  prayer  to  that  Being  to  whom  the  remainder  of  his  life 
was  to  be  dedicated. 

Such  brave  words  as  these,  so  many  vigorous  asseverations  of 
attempted  performance  of  duty,  such  fervent  hopes  expressed  of 
a  benign  administration  in  behalf  of  the  son,  could  not  but  affect 
the  sensibilities  of  the  audience,  already  excited  and  softened  by 
the  impressive  character  of  the  whole  display.  Sobs  were  heard 
throughout  every  portion  of  the  hall,  and  tears  poured  profusely 
from  every  eye.  The  Fleece  Knights  on  the  platform  and  the 
burghers  in  the  background  were  all  melted  with  the  same  emotion. 
As  for  the  Emperor  himself,  he  sank  almost  fainting  upon  his 
chair  as  he  concluded  his  address.  An  ashy  paleness  overspread 
his  countenance,  and  he  wept  like  a  child.  Even  the  icy  Philip 
was  almost  softened,  as  he  rose  to  perform  his  part  in  the  cere 
mony.  Dropping  upon  his  knees  before  his  father's  feet,  he 
reverently  kissed  his  hand.  Charles  placed  his  hands  solemnly 
upon  his  son's  head,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  blessed  him 
in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity.  Then  raising  him  in  his  arms 
he  tenderly  embraced  him,  saying,  as  he  did  so,  to  the  great  poten 
tates  around  him,  that  he  felt  a  sincere  compassion  for  the  son 
on  whose  shoulders  so  heavy  a  weight  had  just  devolved,  and 
which  only  a  life-long  labor  would  enable  him  to  support.  Philip 
now  uttered  a  few  words  expressive  of  his  duty  to  his  father  and 
his  affection  for  his  people.  Turning  to  the  orders,  he  signified  his 
regret  that  he  was  unable  to  address  them  either  in  the  French  or 
Flemish  language,  and  was  therefore  obliged  to  ask  their  attention 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  311 

to  the  Bishop  of  Arras,  who  would  act  as  his  interpreter.  Antony 
Perrenot  accordingly  arose,  and  in  smooth,  fluent;  well-turned  com 
monplaces,  expressed  at  great  length  the  gratitude  of  Philip  towards 
his  father,  with  his  firm  determination  to  walk  in  the  path  of  duty, 
and  to  obey  his  father's  counsels  and  example  in  the  future  admin 
istration  of  the  provinces.  This  long  address  of  the  prelate  was 
responded  to  at  equal  length  by  Jacob  Maas,  member  of  the  coun 
cil  of  Brabant,  a  man  of  great  learning,  eloquence  and  prolixity, 
who  had  been  selected  to  reply  on  behalf  of  the  states-general, 
and  who  now,  in  the  name  of  these  bodies,  accepted  the  abdica 
tion  in  an  elegant  and  complimentary  harangue.  Queen  Mary  of 
Hungary,  the  "  Christian  widow "  of  Erasmus,  and  Regent  of 
the  Netherlands  during  the  past  twenty-five  years,  then  rose  to  re 
sign  her  office,  making  a  brief  address  expressive  of  her  affection 
for  the  people,  her  regrets  at  leaving  them,  and  her  hopes  that 
all  errors  which  she  might  have  committed  during  her  long 
administration  would  be  forgiven  her.  Again  the  redundant  Maas 
responded,  asserting  in  terms  of  fresh  compliment  and  elegance 
the  uniform  satisfaction  of  the  provinces  with  her  conduct  during 
her  whole  career. 

The  orations  and  replies  having  now  been  brought  to  a  close, 
the  ceremony  was  terminated.  The  Emperor,  leaning  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  and  of  the  Count  de  Buren, 
slowly  left  the  hall,  followed  by  Philip,  the  Queen  of  Hungary, 
and  the  whole  court;  all  in  the  same  order  in  which  they  had 
entered,  and  by  the  same  passage  into  the  chapel. 


312         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

[Born  at  Boston,  Massachusetts,  September  16,  1823  ;  died  at  Jamaica  Plain. 
Massachusetts,  November  8,  1893] 

THE  JESUITS  IN  NORTH  AMERICA  IN  THE  SEVENTEENTH 

CENTURY 

VOL.  I,  CHAP.  XVI  (EXTRACT) 

In  the  early  morning  of  the  second  of  August,  1642,  twelve 
Huron  canoes  were  moving  slowly  along  the  northern  shore  of  the 
expansion  of  the  St.  Lawrence  known  as  the  Lake  of  St.  Peter. 
There  were  on  board  about  forty  persons,  including  four  French 
men,  one  of  them  being  the  Jesuit,  Isaac  Jogues,  whom  we  have 
already  followed  on  his  missionary  journey  to  the  towns  of  the 
Tobacco  Nation.  In  the  interval  he  had  not  been  idle.  During 
the  last  autumn,  (1641)  he,  with  Father  Charles  Raymbault,  had 
passed  along  the  shore  of  Lake  Huron  northward,  entered  the 
strait  through  which  Lake  Superior  discharges  itself,  pushed  on 
as  far  as  the  Sault  Sainte  Marie,  and  preached  the  Faith  to  two 
thousand  Ojibwas,  and  other  Algonquins  there  assembled.  He  was 
now  on  his  return  from  a  far  more  perilous  errand.  The  Huron 
mission  was  in  a  state  of  destitution.  There  was  need  of  clothing 
for  the  priests,  of  vessels  for  the  altars,  of  bread  and  wine  for  the 
Eucharist,  of  writing  materials,  —  in  short,  of  everything;  and, 
early  in  the  summer  of  the  present  year,  Jogues  had  descended 
to  Three  Rivers  and  Quebec  with  the  Huron  traders,  to  procure 
the  necessary  supplies.  He  had  accomplished  his  task,  and  was 
on  his  way  back  to  the  mission.  With  him  were  a  few  Huron 
converts,  and  among  them  a  noted  Christian  chief,  Eustache 
Ahatsistari.  Others  of  the  party  were  in  course  of  instruction  for 
baptism  ;  but  the  greater  part  were  heathen,  whose  canoes  were 
deeply  laden  with  the  proceeds  of  their  bargains  with  the  French 
fur-traders. 

Jogues  sat  in  one  of  the  leading  canoes.  He  was  born  at  Or 
leans  in  1607,  and  was  thirty-five  years  of  age.  His  oval  face  and 
the  delicate  mould  of  his  features  indicated  a  modest,  thoughtful, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  313 

and  refined  nature.  He  was  constitutionally  timid,  with  a  sensitive 
conscience  and  great  religious  susceptibilities.  He  was  a  finished 
scholar,  and  might  have  gained  a  literary  reputation  ;  but  he  had 
chosen  another  career,  and  one  for  which  he  seemed  but  ill  fitted. 
Physically,  however,  he  was  well  matched  with  his  work ;  for, 
though  his  frame  was  slight,  he  was  so  active,  that  none  of  the 
Indians  could  surpass  him  in  running. 

With  him  were  two  young  men,  Rene  Goupil  and  Guillaume 
Couture,  donnes  of  the  mission,  —  that  is  to  say,  laymen  who,  from 
a  religious  motive  and  without  pay,  had  attached  themselves  to 
the  service  of  the  Jesuits.  Goupil  had  formerly  entered  upon 
the  Jesuit  novitiate  at  Paris,  but  failing  health  had  obliged  him  to 
leave  it.  As  soon  as  he  was  able,  he  came  to  Canada,  offered  his 
services  to  the  Superior  of  the  mission,  was  employed  for  a  time 
in  the  humblest  offices,  and  afterwards  became  an  attendant  at  the 
hospital.  At  length,  to  his  delight,  he  received  permission  to  go 
up  to  the  Hurons,  where  the  surgical  skill  which  he  had  acquired 
was  greatly  needed ;  and  he  was  now  on  his  way  thither.  His 
companion,  Couture,  was  a  man  of  intelligence  and  vigor,  and 
of  a  character  equally  disinterested.  Both  were,  like  Jogues,  in 
the  foremost  canoes  ;  while  the  fourth  Frenchman  was  with  the 
unconverted  Hurons,  in  the  rear. 

The  twelve  canoes  had  reached  the  western  end  of  the  Lake  of 
St.  Peter,  where  it  is  filled  with  innumerable  islands.  The  forest 
was  close  on  their  right,  they  kept  near  the  shore  to  avoid  the  cur 
rent,  and  the  shallow  water  before  them  was  covered  with  a  dense 
growth  of  tall  bulrushes.  Suddenly  the  silence  was  frightfully 
broken.  The  war-whoop  rose  from  among  the  rushes,  mingled 
with  the  reports'  of  guns  and  the  whistling  of  -bullets  ;  and  several 
Iroquois  canoes,  filled  with  warriors,  pushed  out  from  their  con 
cealment,  and  bore  down  upon  Jogues  and  his  companions.  The 
Hurons  in  the  rear  were  seized  with  a  shameful  panic.  They 
leaped  ashore  ;  left  canoes,  baggage,  and  weapons  ;  and  fled  into 
the  woods.  The  French  and  the  Christian  Hurons  made  fight  for 
a  time ;  but  when  they  saw  another  fleet  of  canoes  approaching 
from  the  opposite  shores  or  islands,  they  lost  heart,  and  those 
escaped  who  could.  Goupil  was  seized  amid  triumphant  yells,  as 


3 14        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

were  also  several  of  the  Huron  converts.  Jogues  sprang  into  the 
bulrushes,  and  might  have  escaped ;  but  when  he  saw  Goupil  and 
the  neophytes  in  the  clutches  of  the  Iroquois,  he  had  no  heart  to 
abandon  them,  but  came  out  from  his  hiding-place,  and  gave  him 
self  up  to  the  astonished  victors.  A  few  of  them  had  remained  to 
guard  the  prisoners  ;  the  rest  were  chasing  the  fugitives.  Jogues 
mastered  his  agony,  and  began  to  baptize  those  of  the  captive 
converts  who  desired  baptism. 

Couture  had  eluded  pursuit ;  but  when  he  thought  of  Jogues 
and  of  what  perhaps  awaited  him,  he  resolved  to  share  his  fate, 
and,  turning,  retraced  his  steps.  As  he  approached,  five  Iroquois 
ran  forward  to  meet  him ;  and  one  of  them  snapped  his  gun  at 
his  breast,  but  it  missed  fire.  In  his  confusion  and  excitement, 
Couture  fired  his  own  piece,  and  laid  the  savage  dead.  The  re 
maining  four  sprang  upon  him,  stripped  off  all  his  clothing,  tore 
away  his  finger-nails  with  their  teeth,  gnawed  his  fingers  with  the 
fury  of  famished  dogs,  and  thrust  a  sword  through  one  of  his 
hands.  Jogues  broke  from  his  guards,  and,  rushing  to  his  friend, 
threw  his  arms  about  his  neck.  The  Iroquois  dragged  him  away, 
beat  him  with  their  fists  and  war-clubs  till  he  was  senseless,  and, 
when  he  revived,  lacerated  his  fingers  with  their  teeth,  as  they 
had  done  those  of  Couture.  Then  they  turned  upon  Goupil,  and 
treated  him  with  the  same  ferocity.  The  Huron  prisoners  were 
left  for  the  present  unharmed.  More  of  them  were  brought  in 
every  moment,  till  at  length  the  number  of  captives  amounted  in 
all  to  twenty-two,  while  three  Hurons  had  been  killed  in  the  fight 
and  pursuit.  The  Iroquois,  about  seventy  in  number,  now  em 
barked  with  their  prey ;  but  not  until  they  had  knocked  on  the 
head  an  old  Huron,  whom  Jogues,  with  his  mangled  hands,  had 
just  baptized,  and  who  refused  to  leave  the  place.  Then,  under  a 
burning  sun,  they  crossed  to  the  spot  on  which  the  town  of  Sorel 
now  stands,  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Richelieu,  where  they 
encamped. 

Their  course  was  southward,  up  the  River  Richelieu  and  Lake 
Champlain ;  thence,  by  way  of  Lake  George,  to  the  Mohawk 
towns.  The  pain  and  fever  of  their  wounds,  and  the  clouds  of 
mosquitoes,  which  they  could  not  drive  off,  left  the  prisoners  no 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  315 

peace  by  day  nor  sleep  by  night.  On  the  eighth  day,  they  learned 
that  a  large  Iroquois  war-party,  on  their  way  to  Canada,  were  near 
at  hand ;  and  they  soon  approached  their  camp,  on  a  small  island 
near  the  southern  end  of  Lake  Champlain.  The  warriors,  two 
hundred  in  number,  saluted  their  victorious  countrymen  with  vol 
leys  from  their  guns ;  then,  armed  with  clubs  and  thorny  sticks, 
ranged  themselves  in  two  lines,  between  which  the  captives  were 
compelled  to  pass  up  the  side  of  a  rocky  hill.  On  the  way,  they 
were  beaten  with  such  fury,  that  Jogues,  who  was  last  in  the  line, 
fell  powerless,  drenched  in  blood  and  half  dead.  As  the  chief  man 
among  the  French  captives,  he  fared  the  worst.  His  hands  were 
again  mangled,  and  fire  applied  to  his  body ;  while  the  Huron 
chief,  Eustache,  was  subjected  to  tortures  even  more  atrocious. 
When,  at  night,  the  exhausted  sufferers  tried  to  rest,  the  young 
warriors  came  to  lacerate  their  wounds  and  pull  out  their  hair 
and  beards. 

In  the  morning  they  resumed  their  journey.  And  now  the  lake 
narrowed  to  the  semblance  of  a  tranquil  river.  Before  them  was 
a  woody  mountain,  close  on  their  right  a  rocky  promontory,  and 
between  these  flowed  a  stream,  the  outlet  of  Lake  George.  On 
those  rocks,  more  than  a  hundred  years  after,  rose  the  ramparts 
of  Ticonderoga.  They  landed,  shouldered  their  canoes  and  bag 
gage,  took  their  way  through  the  woods,  passed  the  spot  where 
the  fierce  Highlanders  and  the  dauntless  regiments  of  England 
breasted  in  vain  the  storm  of  lead  and  fire,  and  soon  reached  the 
shore  where  Abercrombie  landed  and  Lord  Howe  fell.  First  of 
white  men,  Jogues  and  his  companions  gazed  on  the  romantic  lake 
that  bears  the  name,  not  of  its  gentle  discoverer,  but  of  the  dull 
Hanoverian  king.  Like  a  fair  Naiad  of  the  wilderness,  it  slum 
bered  between  the  guardian  mountains  that  breathe  from  crag  and 
forest  the  stern  poetry  of  war.  But  all  then  was  solitude  ;  and  the 
clang  of  trumpets,  the  roar  of  cannon,  and  the  deadly  crack  of  the 
rifle  had  never  as  yet  awakened  their  angry  echoes. 


316        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

[Born  in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  May  25,  1803  ;  died  at  Concord,  Massa 
chusetts,  April  27,  1882] 

CONCORD  HYMN 
SUNG  AT  THE  COMPLETION  OF  THE  BATTLE  MONUMENT,  APRIL  19,  1836 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps  ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 
The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 


THE  RHODORA 
ON  BEING  ASKED  WHENCE  IS  THE  FLOWER 

In  May,  when  sea  winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 
I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 
Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  317 

Here  might  the  redbird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 

Rhodora  !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 

Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 

Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being : 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose  ! 

I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew  : 

But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 

The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought  you. 

THE  HUMBLE-BEE 

Burly,  dozing  humble-bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek ; 
I  will  follow  thee  alone, 
Thou  animated  torrid  zone  ! 
Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines  ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion  ! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere  ; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air ; 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon  ; 
Epicurean  of  June ; 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum,  — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days, 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 
And  with  softness  touching  all, 


318        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  the  color  of  romance, 
And  infusing  subtle  heats, 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods, 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers ; 
Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 
Of  Indian  wildernesses  found  ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen  ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple-sap  and  daffodils, 
Grass  with  green  grass  half-mast  high, 
Succory  to  match  the  sky, 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's  tongue 
And  brier-roses  dwelt  among  ; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet, 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff  and  take  the  wheat. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  3*9 

When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep  ; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep ; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 

GOOD-BYE 

Good-bye,  proud  world  !  I'm  going  home  : 
Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I  'm  not  thine. 
Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam  ; 
A  river-ark  on  the  ocean  brine, 
Long  I  've  been  tossed  like  the  driven  foam ; 
But  now,  proud  world  !  I  'm  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  Flattery's  fawning  face  ; 

To  Grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace ; 

To  upstart  Wealth's  averted  eye  ; 

To  supple  Office,  low  and  high ; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street ; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet ; 

To  those  who  go,  and  those  who  come ; 

Good-bye,  proud  world  !  I  'm  going  home. 

I  am  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone,  — 
A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 
Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned ; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day, 
Echo  the  blackbird's  roundelay, 
And  vulgar  feet  have  never  trod 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  thought  and  God. 

O,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome ; 
And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 


320         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools  and  the  learned  clan  ; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet  ? 


EACH  AND  ALL 

Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown 

Of  thee  from  the  hill  top  looking  down  ; 

The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 

Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm  ; 

The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 

Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 

Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 

Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height ; 

Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 

Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 

All  are  needed  by  each  one  ; 

Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 

I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 

Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough  ; 

I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even  ; 

He  sings  the  song,  but  it  cheers  not  now, 

For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky ; 

He  sang  to  my  ear,  —  they  sang  to  my  eye. 

The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore  ; 

The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 

Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave, 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 

Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 

I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home ; 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 

Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore 

With  the  sun  and  the  sand  and  the  wild  uproar. 

The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 

As  mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  321 

Nor  knew  her  beauty's  best  attire 

Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 

At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage, 

Like  the  bird  from  the  woodlands  to  the  cage ; 

The  gay  enchantment  was  undone, 

A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 

Then  I  said,  "  I  covet  truth  ; 

Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat ; 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth  : " 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 

The  ground  pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 

Running  over  the  club  moss  burs  ; 

I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath  ; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs  ; 

Pine  cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground ; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 

Full  of  light  and  of  deity ; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird  ; 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole  ; 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 

THE  SNOW-STORM 

Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 

Arrives  the  snow,  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 

Seems  nowhere  to  alight :  the  whited  air 

Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heaven,       *  ' 

And  veils  the  farmhouse  at  the  garden's  end. 

The  sled  and  traveler  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 

Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  house  mates  sit 

Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  inclosed 

In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come,  see  the  north  wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastions  with  projected  roof 


322         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door. 

Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work 

So  fanciful,  so  savage,  naught  cares  he 

For  number  or  proportion.    Mockingly, 

On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths ; 

A  swanlike  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn ; 

Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 

Mauger  the  farmer's  sighs  ;  and  at  the  gate 

A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 

And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 

Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not, 

Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 

To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 

Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night  work, 

The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 

APRIL 

The  April  winds  are  magical 
And  thrill  our  tuneful  frames  ; 
The  garden  walks  are  passional 
To  bachelors  and  dames. 
The  hedge  is  gemmed  with  diamonds, 
The  air  with  Cupids  full, 
The  cobweb  clues  of  Rosamond 
Guide  lovers  to  the  pool. 
Each  dimple  in  the  water, 
•  Each  leaf  that  shades  the  rock 

Can  cozen,  pique  and  flatter, 
Can  parley  and  provoke. 
Goodfellow,  Puck  and  goblins, 
Know  more  than  any  book. 
Down  with  your  doleful  problems, 
And  court  the  sunny  brook. 
The  south-winds  are  quick-witted, 
The  schools  are  sad  and  slow, 
The  masters  quite  omitted 
The  lore  we  care  to  know. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  323 

FORBEARANCE 

Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun  ? 

Loved  the  wood-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk  ? 

At  rich  men's  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse  ? 

Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust  ? 

And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 

In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained, 

Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay  ? 

O,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine ! 

FABLE 

The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 

Had  a  quarrel, 

And  the  former  called  the  latter  "  Little  Prig ;  " 

Bun  replied, 

"  You  are  doubtless  very  big  ; 

But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 

Must  be  taken  in  together, 

To  make  up  a  year 

And  a  sphere. 

And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 

To  occupy  my  place. 

If  I  'm  not  so  large  as  you, 

You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 

And  not  half  so  spry. 

I  '11  not  deny  you  make 

A  very  pretty  squirrel  track ; 

Talents  differ ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put ; 

If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 

Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 


324        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  ENCHANTER 

In  the  deep  heart  of  man  a  poet  dwells 

Who  all  the  day  of  life  his  summer  story  tells ; 

Scatters  on  every  eye  dust  of  his  spells, 

Scent,  form,  and  colpr ;  to  the  flowers  and  shells 

Wins  the  believing  child  with  wondrous  tales ; 

Touches  a  cheek  with  colors  of  romance, 

And  crowds  a  history  into  a  glance ; 

Gives  beauty  to  the  lake  and  fountain, 

Spies  oversea  the  fires  of  the  mountain  ; 

When  thrushes  ope  their  throat,  't  is  he  that  sings, 

And  he  that  paints  the  oriole's  fiery  wings. 

The  little  Shakespeare  in  the  maiden's  heart 

Makes  Romeo  of  a  plough-boy  on  his  cart ; 

Opens  the  eye  to  Virtue's  starlike  meed 

And  gives  persuasion  to  a  gentle  deed. 

WOODNOTES 
SELECTIONS 

'T  was  one  of  the  charmed  days 

When  the  genius  of  God  doth  flow, 

The  wind  may  alter  twenty  ways, 

A  tempest  cannot  blow  ; 

It  may  blow  north,  it  still  is  warm ; 

Or  south,  it  still  is  clear ; 

Or  east,  it  smells  like  a  clover-farm ; 

Or  west,  no  thunder  fear. 

The  musing  peasant  lowly  great 

Beside  the  forest  water  sate  ; 

The  rope-like  pine  roots  crosswise  grown 

Composed  the  network  of  his  throne ; 

The  wide  lake,  edged  with  sand  and  grass. 

Was  burnished  to  a  floor  of  glass, 

Painted  with  shadows  green  and  proud 

Of  the  tree  and  of  the  cloud. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  325 

He  was  the  heart  of  all  the  scene ; 

On  him  the  sun  looked  more  serene ; 

To  hill  and  cloud  his  face  was  known,  — 

It  seemed  the  likeness  of  their  own  ; 

They  knew  by  secret  sympathy 

The  public  child  of  earth  and  sky. 

"  You  ask,"  he  said,  "  what  guide 

Me  through  trackless  thickets  led, 

Through  thick-stemmed  woodlands  rough  and  wide. 

I  found  the  water's  bed. 

The  watercourses  were  my  guide  ; 

I  travelled  grateful  by  their  side, 

Or  through  their  channel  dry ; 

They  led  me  through  the  thicket  damp, 

Through  brake  and  fern,  the  beavers'  camp, 

Through  beds  of  granite  cut  my  road, 

And  their  resistless  friendship  showed  : 

The  falling  waters  led  me, 

The  foodful  waters  fed  me, 

And  brought  me  to  the  lowest  land, 

Unerring  to  the  ocean  sand. 

The  moss  upon  the  forest  bark 

Was  pole-star  when  the  night  was  dark  ; 

The  purple  berries  in  the  wood 

Supplied  me  necessary  food  ; 

For  Nature  ever  faithful  is 

To  such  as  trust  her  faithfulness. 

When  the  forest  shall  mislead  me, 

When  the  night  and  morning  lie, 

When  sea  and  land  refuse  to  feed  me, 

'T  will  be  time  enough  to  die  ; 

Then  will  yet  my  mother  yield 

A  pillow  in  her  greenest  field, 

Nor  the  June  flowers  scorn  to  cover 

The  clay  of  their  departed  lover." 


326        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 
THE  SONG  OF  THE  PINE-TREE 

"  Heed  the  old  oracles, 

Ponder  my  spells ; 

Song  wakes  in  my  pinnacles 

When  the  wind  swells. 

Soundeth  the  prophetic  wind, 

The  shadows  shake  on  the  rock  behind, 

And  the  countless  leaves  of  the  pine  are  strings 

Tuned  to  the  lay  the  wood-god  sings. 

Hearken !    Hearken ! 
If  thou  wouldst  know  the  mystic  song 
Chanted  when  the  sphere  was  young. 
Aloft,  abroad,  the  paean  swells ; 
O  wise  man  !  hear'st  thou  half  it  tells  ? 
O  wise  man  !  hear'st  thou  the  least  part  ? 
'T  is  the  chronicle  of  art. 
To  the  open  ear  it  sings 
Sweet  the  genesis  of  things, 
Of  tendency  through  endless  ages, 
Of  star-dust,  and  star-pilgrimages, 
Of  rounded  worlds,  of  space  and  time, 
Of  the  old  flood's  subsiding  slime, 
Of  chemic  matter,  force  and  form, 
Of  poles  and  powers,  cold,  wet  and  warm  : 
The  rushing  metamorphosis 
Dissolving  all  that  fixture  is, 
Melts  things  that  be  to  things  that  seem, 
And  solid  nature  to  a  dream. 
O,  listen  to  the  undersong, 
The  ever  old,  the  ever  young ; 
And,  far  within  those  cadent  pauses, 
The  chorus  of  the  ancient  Causes ! 
Delights  the  dreadful  Destiny 
To  fling  his  voice  into  the  tree, 
And  shock  thy  weak  ear  with  a  note 
Breathed  from  the  everlasting  throat. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  327 

In  music  he  repeats  the  pang 

Whence  the  fair  flock  of  Nature  sprang. 

O  mortal !  thy  ears  are  stones  ; 

These  echoes  are  laden  with  tones 

Which  only  the  pure  can  hear ; 

Thou  canst  not  catch  what  they  recite 

Of  Fate  and  Will,  of  Want  and  Right, 

Of  man  to  come,  of  human  life, 

Of  Death  and  Fortune,  Growth  and  Strife." 


VOLUNTARIES 

******* 

In  an  age  of  fops  and  toys, 

Wanting  wisdom,  void  of  right, 

Who  shall  nerve  heroic  boys 

To  hazard  all  in  Freedom's  fight,  — 

Break  sharply  off  their  jolly  games, 

Forsake  their  comrades  gay 

And  quit  proud  homes  and  youthful  dames 

For  famine,  toil  and  fray  ? 

Yet  on  the  nimble  air  benign 

Speed  nimbler  messages, 

That  waft  the  breath  of  grace  divine 

To  hearts  in  sloth  and  ease. 

So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 

So  near  is  God  to  man, 

When  duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must, 

The  youth  replies,  /  can. 

O,  well  for  the  fortunate  soul 
Which  Music's  wings  infold, 
Stealing  away  the  memory 
Of  sorrows  new  and  old  ! 
Yet  happier  he  whose  inward  sight. 
Stayed  on  his  subtile  thought, 
Shuts  his  sense  on  toys  of  time, 
To  vacant  bosoms  brought. 


328        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But  best  befriended  of  the  God 

He  who,  in  evil  times, 

Warned  by  an  inward  voice, 

Heeds  not  the  darkness  and  the  dread, 

Biding  by  his  rule  and  choice, 

Feeling  only  the  fiery  thread 

Leading  over  heroic  ground, 

Walled  with  mortal  terror  round, 

To  the  aim  which  him  allures, 

And  the  sweet  heaven  his  deed  secures. 

Peril  around,  all  else  appalling, 

Cannon  in  front  and  leaden  rain 

Him  duty  through  the  clarion  calling 

To  the  van  called  not  in  vain. 

Stainless  soldier  on  the  walls, 

Knowing  this,  —  and  knows  no  more,  — 

Whoever  fights,  whoever  falls, 

Justice  conquers  evermore, 

Justice  after  as  before,  - 

And  he  who  battles  on  her  side, 

God,  though  he  were  ten  times  slain, 

Crowns  him  victor  glorified, 

Victor  over  death  and  pain. 


SELF-RELIANCE 

I  read  the  other  day  some  verses  written  by  an  eminent  painter 
which  were  original  and  not  conventional.  The  soul  always  hears 
an  admonition  in  such  lines,  let  the  subject  be  what  it  may.  The 
sentiment  they  instill  is  of  more  value  than  any  thought  they  may 
contain.  To  believe  your  own  thought,  to  believe  that  what  is  true 
for  you  in  your  private  heart  is  true  for  all  men,  —  that  is  genius. 
Speak  your  latent  conviction,  and  it  shall  be  the  universal  sense ; 
for  the  inmost  in  due  time  becomes  the  outmost,  —  and  our  first 
thought  is  rendered  back  to  us  by  the  trumpets  of  the  Last  Judg 
ment.  Familiar  as  the  voice  of  the  mind  is  to  each,  the  highest 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  329 

merit  we  ascribe  to  Moses,  Plato,  and  Milton  is,  that  they  set  at 
naught  books  and  traditions,  and  spoke  not  what  men,  but  what 
they  thought.  A  man  should  learn  to  detect  and  watch  that  gleam 
of  light  which  flashes  across  his  mind  from  within,  more  than  the 
luster  of  the  firmament  of  bards  and  sages.  Yet  he  dismisses  with 
out  notice  his  thought,  because  it  is  his.  In  every  work  of  genius 
we  recognize  our  own  rejected  thoughts  :  they  come  back  to  us 
with  a  certain  alienated  majesty.  Great  works  of  art  have  no  more 
affecting  lesson  for  us  than  this.  They  teach  us  to  abide  by  our 
spontaneous  impression  with  good-humored  inflexibility  then  most 
when  the  whole  cry  of  voices  is  on  the  other  side.  Else,  to-morrow 
a  stranger  will  say  with  masterly  good  sense  precisely  what  we 
have  thought  and  felt  all  the  time,  and  we  shall  be  forced  to  take 
with  shame  our  own  opinion  from  another. 

There  is  a  time  in  every  man's  education  when  he  arrives  at  the 
conviction  that  envy  is  ignorance ;  that  imitation  is  suicide ;  that 
he  must  take  himself  for  better,  for  worse,  as  his  portion  ;  that 
though  the  wide  universe  is  full  of  good,  no  kernel  of  nourishing 
corn  can  come  to  him  but  through  his  toil  bestowed  on  that  plot 
of  ground  which  is  given  to  him  to  till.  The  power  which  resides 
in  him  is  new  in  nature,  and  none  but  he  knows  what  that  is  which 
he  can  do,  nor  does  he  know  until  he  has  tried.  Not  for  nothing 
one  face,  one  character,  one  fact,  makes  much  impression  on  him, 
and  another  none.  This  sculpture  in  the  memory  is  not  without 
preestablished  harmony.  The  eye  was  placed  where  one  ray  should 
fall,  that  it  might  testify  of  that  particular  ray.  We  but  half  express 
ourselves,  and  are  ashamed  of  that  divine  idea  which  each  of  us 
represents.  It  may  be  safely  trusted  as  proportionate  and  of  good 
issues,  so  it  be  faithfully  imparted,  but  God  will  not  have  his  work 
made  manifest  by  cowards.  A  man  is  relieved  and  gay  when  he 
has  put  his  heart  into  his  work  and  done  his  best ;  but  what  he 
has  said  or  done  otherwise  shall  give  him  no  peace.  It  is  a  deliver 
ance  which  does  not  deliver.  In  the  attempt  his  genius  deserts 
him  ;  no  muse  befriends  ;  no  invention,  no  hope. 

Trust  thyself  :  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron  string.  Accept 
the  place  the  divine  providence  has  found  for  you,  the  society  of 
your  contemporaries,  the  connection  of  events.  Great  men  have 


330        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

always  done  so,  and  confided  themselves  childlike  to  the  genius  of 
their  age,  betraying  their  perception  that  the  absolutely  trustworthy 
was  seated  at  their  heart,  working  through  their  hands,  predomi 
nating  in  all  their  being.  And  we  are  now  men,  and  must  accept 
in  the  highest  mind  the  same  transcendent  destiny  ;  and  not  minors 
and  invalids  in  a  protected  corner,  not  cowards  fleeing  before  a 
revolution,  but  guides,  redeemers,  and  benefactors,  obeying  the 
Almighty  effort,  and  advancing  on  Chaos  and  the  Dark. 

What  pretty  oracles  nature  yields  us  on  this  text,  in  the  face 
and  behavior  of  children,  babes,  and  even  brutes !  That  divided 
and  rebel  mind,  that  distrust  of  a  sentiment  because  our  arith 
metic  has.  computed  the  strength  and  means  opposed  to  our  pur 
pose,  these  have  not.  Their  mind  being  whole,  their  eye  is  as  yet 
unconquered,  and  when  we  look  in  their  faces  we  are  disconcerted. 
Infancy  conforms  to  nobody :  all  conform  to  it,  so  that  one  babe 
commonly  makes  four  or  five  out  of  the  adults  who  prattle  and  play 
to  it.  So  God  has  armed  youth  and  puberty  and  manhood  no  less 
with  its  own  piquancy  and  charm,  and  made  it  enviable  and  gracious 
and  its  claims  not  to  be  put  by,  if  it  will  stand  by  itself.  Do  not 
think  the  youth  has  no  force,  because  he  cannot  speak  to  you  and 
me.  Hark  !  in  the  next  room  his  voice  is  sufficiently  clear  and  em 
phatic.  It  seems  he  knows  how  to  speak  to  his  contemporaries. 
Bashful  or  bold,  then,  he  will  know  how  to  make  us  seniors  very 
unnecessary. 

The  nonchalance  of  boys  who  are  sure  of  a  dinner,  and  would 
disdain  as  much  as  a  lord  to  do  or  say  aught  to  conciliate  one,  is 
the  healthy  attitude  of  human  nature.  A  boy  is  in  the  parlor  what 
the  pit  is  in  the  playhouse ;  independent,  irresponsible,  looking 
out  from  his  corner  on  such  people  and  facts  as  pass  by,  he  tries 
and  sentences  them  on  their  merits,  in  the  swift,  summary  way 
of  boys,  as  good,  bad,  interesting,  silly,  eloquent,  troublesome. 
He  cumbers  himself  never  about  consequences,  about  interests  ;  he 
gives  an  independent,  genuine  verdict.  You  must  court  him  :  he 
does  not  court  you.  But  the  man  is,  as  it  were,  clapped  into  jail 
by  his  consciousness.  As  soon  as  he  has  once  acted  or  spoken 
with  tclat  he  is  a  committed  person,  watched  by  the  sympathy  or 
the  hatred  of  hundreds,  whose  affections  must  now  enter  into  his 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  331 

account.  There  is  no  Lethe  for  this.  Ah,  that  he  could  pass  again 
into  his  neutrality !  Who  can  thus  avoid  all  pledges,  and  having 
observed,  observe  again  from  the  same  unaffected,  unbiased,  un- 
bribable,  unaffrighted  innocence,  must  always  be  formidable.  He 
would  utter  opinions  on  all  passing  affairs,  which  being  seen  to 
be  not  private,  but  necessary,  would  sink  like  darts  into  the  ear  of 
men,  and  put  them  in  fear. 

These  are  the  voices  which  we  hear  in  solitude,  but  they  grow 
faint  and  inaudible  as  we  enter  into  the  world.  Society  everywhere 
is  in  conspiracy  against  the  manhood  of  every  one  of  its  members. 
Society  is  a  joint-stock  company,  in  which  the  members  agree,  for 
the  better  securing  of  his  bread  to  each  shareholder,  to  surrender 
the  liberty  and  culture  of  the  eater.  The  virtue  in  most  request 
is  conformity.  Self-reliance  is  its  aversion.  It  loves  not  realities 
and  creators,  but  names  and  customs. 

Whoso  would  be  a  man  must  be  a  nonconformist.  He  who 
would  gather  immortal  palms  must  not  be  hindered  by  the  name 
of  goodness,  but  must  explore  if  it  be  goodness.  Nothing  is  at 
last  sacred  but  the  integrity  of  your  own  mind.  Absolve  you  to 
yourself,  and  you  shall  have  the  suffrage  of  the  world.  I  remem 
ber  an  answer  which  when  quite  young  I  was  prompted  to  make 
to  a  valued  adviser,  who  was  wont  to  importune  me  with  the  dear 
old  doctrines  of  the  church.  On  my  saying,  What  have  I  to  do 
with  the  sacredness  of  traditions,  if  I  live  wholly  from  within  ?  my 
friend  suggested  :  "  But  these  impulses  may  be  from  below,  not 
from  above."  I  replied  :  "  They  do  not  seem  to  me  to  be  such ; 
but  if  I  am  the  Devil's  child,  I  will  live  then  from  the  Devil." 
No  law  can  be  sacred  to  me  but  that  of  my  nature.  Good  and  bad 
are  but  names  very  readily  transferable  to  that  or  this ;  the  only 
right  is  what  is  after  my  constitution,  the  only  wrong  what  is 
against  it.  A  man  is  to  carry  himself  in  the  presence  of  all  opposi 
tion,  as  if  everything  were  titular  and  ephemeral  but  he.  I  am 
ashamed  to  think  how  easily  we  capitulate  to  badges  and  names, 
to  large  societies  and  dead  institutions.  Every  decent  and  well- 
spoken  individual  affects  and  sways  me  more  than  is  right.  I  ought 
to  go  upright  and  vital,  and  speak  the  rude  truth  in  all  ways.  If 
malice  and  vanity  wear  the  coat  of  philanthropy,  shall  that  pass  ? 


332        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

If  an  angry  bigot  assumes  this  bountiful  cause  of  Abolition,  and 
comes  to  me  with  his  last  news  from  Barbadoes,  why  should  I 
not  say  to  him  :  "Go  love  thy  infant ;  love  thy  wood-chopper : 
be  good-natured  and  modest :  have  that  grace  ;  and  never  varnish 
your  hard,  uncharitable  ambition  with  this  incredible  tenderness 
for  black  folk  a  thousand  miles  off.  Thy  love  afar  is  spite  at 
home."  Rough  and  graceless  would  be  such  greeting,  but  truth 
is  handsomer  than  the  affectation  of  love.  Your  goodness  must 
have  some  edge  to  it,  —  else  it  is  none.  The  doctrine  of  hatred 
must  be  preached  as  the  counteraction  of  the  doctrine  of  love  when 
that  pules  and  whines.  I  shun  father  and  mother  and  wife  and 
brother,  when  my  genius  calls  me.  I  would  write  on  the  lintels  of 
the  door-post,  Whim.  I  hope  it  is  somewhat  better  than  whim  at 
last,  but  we  cannot  spend  the  day  in  explanation.  « Expect  me  not 
to  show  cause  why  I  seek  or  why  I  exclude  company.  Then,  again, 
do  not  tell  me,  as  a  good  man  did  to-day,  of  my  obligation  to  put 
all  poor  men  in  good  situations.  Are  they  my  poor  ?  I  tell  thee, 
thou  foolish  philanthropist,  that  I  grudge  the  dollar,  the  dime,  the 
cent,  I  give  to  such  men  as  do  not  belong  to  me  and  to  whom  I 
do  not  belong.  There  is  a  class  of  persons  to  whom  by  all  spiritual 
affinity  I  am  bought  and  sold ;  for  them  I  will  go  to  prison,  if  need 
be ;  but  your  miscellaneous  popular  charities ;  the  education  at 
college  of  fools ;  the  building  of  meeting-houses  to  the  vain  end 
to  which  many  now  stand ;  alms  to  sots ;  and  the  thousandfold 
Relief  Societies ;  —  though  I  confess  with  shame  I  sometimes 
succumb  and  give  the  dollar,  it  is  a  wicked  dollar  which  by  and 
by  I  shall  have  the  manhood  to  withhold. 

Virtues  are,  in  the  popular  estimate,  rather  the  exception  than 
the  rule.  There  is  the  man  and  his  virtues.  Men  do  what  is  called 
a  good  action,  as  some  piece  of  courage  or  charity,  much  as  they 
would  pay  a  fine  in  expiation  of  daily  non-appearance  on  parade. 
Their  works  are  done  as  an  apology  or  extenuation  of  their  living 
in  the  world, — as  invalids  and  the  insane  pay  a  high  board.  Their 
virtues  are  penances.  I  do  not  wish  to  expiate,  but  to  live.  My 
life  is  for  itself  and  not  for  a  spectacle.  I  much  prefer  that  it 
should  be  of  a  lower  strain,  so  it  be  genuine  and  equal,  than  that 
it  should  be  glittering  and  unsteady.  I  wish  it  to  be  sound  and 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  333 

sweet,  and  not  to  need  diet  and  bleeding.  I  ask  primary  evidence 
that  you  are  a  man,  and  refuse  this  appeal  from  the  man  to  his 
actions.  I  know  that  for  myself  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
I  do  or  forbear  those  actions  which  are  reckoned  excellent.  I 
cannot  consent  to  pay  for  a  privilege  where  I  have  intrinsic 
right.  Few  and  mean  as  my  gifts  may  be,  I  actually  am,  and  do 
not  need  for  my  own  assurance  or  the  assurance  of  my  fellows  any 
secondary  testimony. 

What  I  must  do  is  all  that  concerns  me,  not  what  the  people 
think.  This  rule,  equally  arduous  in  actual  and  in  intellectual  life, 
may  serve  for  the  whole  distinction  between  greatness  and  mean 
ness.  It  is  the  harder,  because  you  will  always  find  those  who 
think  they  know  what  is  your  duty  better  than  you  know  it.  It  is 
easy  in  the  world  to  live  after  the  world's  opinion ;  it  is  easy  in 
solitude  to  live  after  our  own  ;  but  the  great  man  is  he  who  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd  keeps  with  perfect  sweetness  the  independence 
of  solitude. 

The  objection  to  conforming  to  usages  that  have  become  dead 
to  you  is,  that  it  scatters  your  force.  It  loses  your  time  and  blurs 
the  impression  of  your  character.  If  you  maintain  a  dead  church, 
contribute  to  a  dead  Bible-society,  vote  with  a  great  party  either  for 
the  government  or  against  it,  spread  your  table  like  base  house 
keepers,  —  under  all  these  screens  I  have  difficulty  to  detect  the 
precise  man  you  are.  And,  of  course,  so  much  force  is  withdrawn 
from  your  proper  life.  But  do  your  work,  and  I  shall  know  you. 
Do  your  work,  and  you  shall  reinforce  yourself.  A  man  must  con 
sider  what  a  blindman's-buff  is  this  game  of  conformity.  If  I  know 
your  sect,  I  anticipate  your  argument.  I  hear  a  preacher  announce 
for  his  text  and  topic  the  expediency  of  one  of  the  institutions  of 
his  church.  Do  I  not  know  beforehand  that  not  possibly  can  he 
say  a  new  and  spontaneous  word  ?  Do  I  not  know  that,  with  all 
this  ostentation  of  examining  the  grounds  of  the  institution,  he 
will  do  no  such  thing  ?  Do  I  not  know  that  he  is  pledged  to  him 
self  not  to  look  but  at  one  side, — the  permitted  side,  not  as  a  man, 
but  as  a  parish  minister?  He  is  a  retained  attorney,  and  these  airs 
of  the  bench  are  the  emptiest  affectation.  Well,  most  men  have 
bound  their  eyes  with  one  or  another  handkerchief,  and  attached 


334        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

themselves  to  some  one  of  these  communities  of  opinion.  This 
conformity  makes  them  not  false. in  a  few  particulars,  authors  of 
a  few  lies,  but  false  in  all  particulars.  Their  every  truth  is  not 
quite  true.  Their  two  is  not  the  real  two,  their  four  not  the  real 
four ;  so  that  every  word  they  say  chagrins  us,  and  we  know  not 
where  to  begin  to  set  them  right.  Meantime  nature  is  not  slow  to 
equip  us  in  the  prison-uniform  of  the  party  to  which  we  adhere. 
We  come  to  wear  one  cut  of  face  and  figure,  and  acquire  by  de 
grees  the  gentlest  asinine  expression.  There  is  a  mortifying  ex 
perience  in  particular  which  does  not  fail  to  wreak  itself  also  in  the 
general  history;  I  mean  "  the  foolish  face  of  praise,"  the  forced 
smile  which  we  put  on  in  company  where  we  do  not  feel  at  ease 
in  answer  to  conversation  which  does  not  interest  us.  The  muscles, 
not  spontaneously  moved,  but  moved  by  a  low  usurping  willfulness, 
grow  tight  about  the  outline  of  the  face  with  the  most  disagreeable 
sensation. 

For  nonconformity  the  world  whips  you  with  its  displeasure. 
And  therefore  a  man  must  know  how  to  estimate  a  sour  face.  The 
bystanders  look  askance  on  him  in  the  public  street  or  in  the 
friend's  parlor.  If  this  aversation  had  its  origin  in  contempt  and 
resistance  like  his  own,  he  might  well  go  home  with  a  sad  coun 
tenance  ;  but  the  sour  faces  of  the  multitude,  like  their  sweet  faces, 
have  no  deep  cause,  but  are  put  on  and  off  as  the  wind  blows  and 
a  newspaper  directs.  Yet  is  the  discontent  of  the  multitude  more 
formidable  than  that  of  the  senate  and  the  college.  It  is  easy 
enough  for  a  firm  man  who  knows  the  world  to  brook  the  rage  of 
the  cultivated  classes.  Their  rage  is  decorous  and  prudent,  for  they 
are  timid  as  being  very  vulnerable  themselves.  But  when  to  their 
feminine  rage  the  indignation  of  the  people  is  added,  when  the 
ignorant  and  the  poor  are  aroused,  when  the  unintelligent  brute 
force  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  society  is  made  to  growl  and  mow, 
it  needs  the  habit  of  magnanimity  and  religion  to  treat  it  godlike 
as  a  trifle  of  no  concernment. 

The  other  terror  that  scares  us  from  self-trust  is  our  consistency ; 
a  reverence  for  our  past  act  or  word,  because  the  eyes  of  others 
have  no  other  data  for  computing  our  orbit  than  our  past  acts,  and 
we  are  loth  to  disappoint  them. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  335 

But  why  should  you  keep  your  head  over  your  shoulder  ?  Why 
drag  about  this  corpse  of  your  memory,  lest  you  contradict  some 
what  you  have  stated  in  this  or  that  public  place  ?  Suppose  you 
should  contradict  yourself ;  when  then  ?  It  seems  to  be  a  rule  of 
wisdom  never  to  rely  on  your  memory  alone,  scarcely  even  in  acts 
of  pure  memory,  but  to  bring  the  past  for  judgment  into  the  thou 
sand-eyed  present,  and  live  ever  in  a  new  day.  In  your  metaphysics 
you  have  denied  personality  to  the  Deity  ;  yet  when  the  devout 
motions  of  the  soul  come,  yield  to  them  heart  and  life,  though  they 
should  clothe  God  with  shape  and  color.  Leave  your  theory,  as 
Joseph  his  coat  in  the  hand  of  the  harlot,  and  flee. 

A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds,  adored  by 
little  statesmen  and  philosophers  and  divines.  With  consistency  a 
great  soul  has  simply  nothing  to  do.  He  may  as  well  concern  him 
self  with  the  shadow  on  the  wall.  Speak  what  you  think  now  in 
hard  words,  and  to-morrow  speak  what  to-morrow  thinks  in  hard 
words  again,  though  it  contradict  everything  you  said  to-day.  - 
"Ah,  so  you  shall  be  sure  to  be  misunderstood."  —  Is  it  so  bad, 
then,  to  be  misunderstood  ?  Pythagoras  was  misunderstood,  and 
Socrates,  and  Jesus,  and  Luther,  and  Copernicus,  and  Galileo,  and 
Newton,  and  eveiy  pure  and  wise  spirit  that  ever  took  flesh.  To 
be  great  is  to  be  misunderstood. 

I  suppose  no  man  can  violate  his  nature.  All  the  sallies  of  his 
will  are  rounded  in  by  the  law  of  his  being,  as  the  inequalities  of 
Andes  and  Himmaleh  are  insignificant  in  the  curve  of  the  sphere. 
Nor  does  it  matter  how  you  gauge  and  try  him.  A  character  is  like 
an  acrostic  or  Alexandrian  stanza ;  —  read  it  forward,  backward, 
or  across,  it  still  spells  the  same  thing.  In  this  pleasing,  contrite 
wood-life  which  God  allows  me,  let  me  record  day  by  day  my  honest 
thought  without  prospect  or  retrospect,  and,  I  cannot  doubt,  it  will 
be  found  symmetrical,  though  I  mean  it  not,  and  see  it  not.  My 
book  should  smell  of  pines  and  resound  with  the  hum  of  insects. 
The  swallow  over  my  window  should  interweave  that  thread  or 
straw  he  carries  in  his  bill  into  my  web  also.  We  pass  for  what 
we  are.  Character  teaches  above  our  wills.  Men  imagine  that  they 
communicate  their  virtue  or  vice  only  by  overt  actions,  and  do  not 
see  that  virtue  or  vice  emit  a  breath  every  moment. 


33^        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  will  be  an  agreement  in  whatever  variety  of  actions,  so 
they  be  each  honest  and  natural  in  their  hour.  For  of  one  will, 
the  actions  will  be  harmonious,  however  unlike  they  seem.  These 
varieties  are  lost  sight  of  at  a  little  distance,  at  a  little  height  of 
thought.  One  tendency  unites  them  all.  The  voyage  of  the  best 
ship  is  a  zigzag  line  of  a  hundred  tacks.  See  the  line  from  a  suffi 
cient  distance,  and  it  straightens  itself  to  the  average  tendency. 
Your  genuine  action  will  explain  itself,  and  will  explain  your  other 
genuine  actions.  Your  conformity  explains  nothing.  Act  singly, 
and  what  you  have  already  done  singly  will  justify  you  now.  Great 
ness  appeals  to  the  future.  If  I  can  be  firm  enough  to-day  to  do 
right,  and  scorn  eyes,  I  must  have  done  so  much  right  before  as  to 
defend  me  now.  Be  it  how  it  will,  do  right  now.  Always  scorn 
appearances,  and  you  always  may.  The  force  of  character  is  cumu 
lative.  All  the  foregone  days  of  virtue  work  their  health  into  this. 
What  makes  the  majesty  of  the  heroes  of  the  senate  and  the  field, 
which  so  fills  the  imagination  ?  The  consciousness  of  a  train  of 
great  days  and  victories  behind.  They  shed  an  united  light  on  the 
advancing  actor.  He  is  attended  as  by  a  visible  escort  of  angels. 
That  is  it  which  throws  thunder  into  Chatham's  voice,  and  dignity 
into  Washington's  port,  and  America  into  Adams's  eye.  Honor  is 
venerable  to  us  because  it  is  no  ephemeris.  It  is  always  ancient 
virtue.  We  worship  it  to-day  because  it  is  not  of  to-day.  We  love 
it  and  pay  it  homage,  because  it  is  not  a  trap  for  our  love  and 
homage,  but  is  self-dependent,  self-derived,  and  therefore  of  an 
old  immaculate  pedigree,  even  if  shown  in  a  young  person. 

I  hope  in  these  days  we  have  heard  the  last  of  conformity  and 
consistency.  Let  the  words  be  gazetted  and  ridiculous  henceforward. 
Instead  of  the  gong  for  dinner,  let  us  hear  a  whistle  from  the 
Spartan  fife.  Let  us  never  bow  and  apologize  more.  A  great  man 
is  coming  to  eat  at  my  house.  I  do  not  wish  to  please  him  ;  I  wish 
that  he  should  wish  to  please  me.  I  will  stand  here  for  humanity, 
and  though  I  would  make  it  kind,  I  would  make  it  true.  Let  us 
affront  and  reprimand  the  smooth  mediocrity  and  squalid  content 
ment  of  the  times,  and  hurl  in  the  face  of  custom,  and  trade,  and 
office,  the  fact  which  is  the  upshot  of  all  history,  that  there  is 
a  great  responsible  Thinker  and  Actor  working  wherever  a  man 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  337 

works ;  that  a  true  man  belongs  to  no  other  time  or  place,  but  is 
the  center  of  things.  Where  he  is,  there  is  nature.  He  measures 
you,  and  all  men,  and  all  events.  Ordinarily,  everybody  in  society 
reminds  us  of  somewhat  else,  or  of  some  other  person.  Character, 
reality,  reminds  you  of  nothing  else ;  it  takes  place  of  the  whole 
creation.  The  man  must  be  so  much,  that  he  must  make  all  cir 
cumstances  indifferent.  Every  true  man  is  a  cause,  a  country,  and 
an  age  ;  requires  infinite  spaces  and  numbers  and  time  fully  to 
accomplish  his  design  ;  —  and  posterity  seem  to  follow  his  steps  as 
a  train  of  clients.  A  man  Caesar  is  born,  and  for  ages  after  we  have 
a  Roman  Empire.  Christ  is  born,  and  millions  of  minds  so  grow 
and  cleave  to  his  genius,  that  he  is  confounded  with  virtue  and  the 
possible  of  man.  An  institution  is  the  lengthened  shadow  of  one 
man ;  as  Monachism,  of  the  hermit  Antony ;  the  Reformation, 
of  Luther ;  Quakerism,  of  Fox  ;  Methodism,  of  Wesley ;  Aboli 
tion,  of  Clarkson.  Scipio,  Milton  called  "  the  height  of  Rome  "  ; 
and  all  history  resolves  itself  very  easily  into  the  biography  of  a 
few  stout  and  earnest  persons. 

Let  a  man  then  know  his  worth,  and  keep  things  under  his  feet. 
Let  him  not  peep  or  steal,  or  skulk  up  and  down  with  the  air  of  a 
charity-boy,  a  bastard,  or  an  interloper,  in  the  world  which  exists 
for  him.  But  the  man  in  the  street,  finding  no  worth  in  himself 
which  corresponds  to  the  force  which  built  a  tower  or  sculptured  a 
marble  god,  feels  poor  when  he  looks  on  these.  To  him  a  palace, 
a  statue,  a  costly  book,  have  an  alien  and  forbidding  air,  much  like 
a  gay  equipage,  and  seem  to  say  like  that,  "  Who  are  you,  Sir  ? " 
Yet  they  all  are  his,  suitors  for  his  notice,  petitioners  to  his  facul 
ties  that  they  will  come  out  and  take  possession.  The  picture  waits 
for  my  verdict :  it  is  not  to  command  me,  but  I  am  to  settle  its 
claims  to  praise.  That  popular  fable  of  the  sot  who  was  picked  up 
dead  drunk  in  the  street,  carried  to  the  duke's  house,  washed  and 
dressed  and  laid  in  the  duke's  bed,  and,  on  his  waking,  treated 
with  all  obsequious  ceremony  like  the  duke,  and  assured  that  he 
had  been  insane,  owes  its  popularity  to  the  fact,  that  it  symbolizes 
so  well  the  state  of  man,  who  is  in  the  world  a  sort  of  sot,  but 
now  and  then  wakes  up,  exercises  his  reason,  and  finds  himself  a 
true  prince. 


338        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Our  reading  is  mendicant  and  sycophantic.  In  history,  our 
imagination  plays  us  false.  Kingdom  and  lordship,  power  and 
estate,  are  a  gaudier  vocabulary  than  private  John  and  Edward  in 
a  small  house  and  common  day's  work ;  but  the  things  of  life  are 
the  same  to  both ;  the  sum  total  of  both  is  the  same.  Why  all 
this  deference  to  Alfred,  and  Scanderbeg,  and  Gustavus?  Sup 
pose  they  were  virtuous ;  did  they  wear  out  virtue  ?  As  great 
a  stake  depends  on  your  private  act  to-day,  as  followed  their 
public  and  renowned  steps.  When  private  men  shall  act  with 
original  views,  the  luster  will  be  transferred  from  the  actions  of 
kings  to  those  of  gentlemen. 

The  world  has  been  instructed  by  its  kings,  who  have  so  mag 
netized  the  eyes  of  nations.  It  has  been  taught  by  this  colossal 
symbol  the  mutual  reverence  that  is  due  from  man  to  man.  The 
joyful  loyalty  with  which  men  have  everywhere  suffered  the  king, 
the  noble,  or  the  great  proprietor  to  walk  among  them  by  a  law  of 
his  own,  make  his  own  scale  of  men  and  things,  and  reverse  theirs, 
pay  for  benefits  not  with  money  but  with  honor,  and  represent  the 
law  in  his  person,  was  the  hieroglyphic  by  which  they  obscurely 
signified  their  consciousness  of  their  own  right  and  comeliness, 
the  right  of  every  man. 

The  magnetism  which  all  original  action  exerts  is .  explained 
when  we  inquire  the  reason  of  self-trust.  Who  is  the  Trustee  ? 
What  is  the  aboriginal  Self,  on  which  a  universal  reliance  may  be 
grounded  ?  What  is  the  nature  and  power  of  that  science-baffling 
star,  without  parallax,  without  calculable  elements,  which  shoots  a 
ray  of  beauty  even  into  trivial  and  impure  actions,  if  the  least  mark 
of  independence  appear  ?  The  inquiry  leads  us  to  that  source,  at 
once  the  essence  of  genius,  of  virtue,  and  of  life,  which  we  call 
Spontaneity  or  Instinct.  We  denote  this  primary  wisdom  as  In 
tuition,  whilst  all  later  teachings  are  tuitions.  In  that  deep  force, 
the  last  fact  behind  which  analysis  cannot  go,  all  things  find  their 
common  origin.  For,  the  sense  of  being  which  in  calm  hours  rises, 
we  know  not  how,  in  the  soul,  is  not  diverse  from  things,  from 
space,  from  light,  from  time,  from  man,  but  one  with  them,  and 
proceeds  obviously  from  the  same  source  whence  their  life  and  be 
ing  also  proceed.  We  first  share  the  life  by  which  things  exist,  and 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  339 

afterwards  see  them  as  appearances  in  nature,  and  forget  that  we 
have  shared  their  cause.  Here  is  the  fountain  of  action  and  of 
thought.  Here  are  the  lungs  of  that  inspiration  which  giveth  man 
wisdom,  and  which  cannot  be  denied  without  impiety  and  atheism. 
We  lie  in  the  lap  of  immense  intelligence,  which  makes  us  receivers 
of  its  truth  and  organs  of  its  activity.  When  we  discern  justice, 
when  we  discern  truth,  we  do  nothing  of  ourselves,  but  allow  a  pas 
sage  to  its  beams.  If  we  ask  whence  this  comes,  if  we  seek  to  pry 
into  the  soul  that  causes,  all  philosophy  is  at  fault.  Its  presence  or 
its  absence  is  all  we  can  affirm.  Every  man  discriminates  between 
the  voluntary  acts  of  his  mind,  and  his  involuntary  perceptions, 
and  knows  that  to  his  involuntary  perceptions  a  perfect  faith  is  due. 
He  may  err  in  the  expression  of  them,  but  he  knows  that  these  things 
are  so,  like  day  and  night,  not  to  be  disputed.  My  willful  actions 
and  acquisitions  are  but  roving ;  —  the  idlest  reverie,  the  faintest 
native  emotion,  command  my  curiosity  and  respect.  Thoughtless 
people  contradict  as  readily  the  statement  of  perceptions  as  of 
opinions,  or  rather  much  more  readily ;  for,  they  do  not  distinguish 
between  perception  and  notion.  They  fancy  that  I  choose  to  see 
this  or  that  thing.  But  perception  is  not  whimsical,  it  is  fatal.  If 
I  see  a  trait,  my  children  will  see  it  after  me,  and  in  course  of  time, 
all  mankind,  —  although  it  may  chance  that  no  one  has  seen  it 
before  me.  For  my  perception  of  it  is  as  much  a  fact  as  the  sun. 
The  relations  of  the  soul  to  the  divine  spirit  are  so  pure,  that  it 
is  profane  to  seek  to  interpose  helps.  It  must  be  that  when  God 
speaketh  he  should  communicate,  not  one  thing,  but  all  things ; 
should  fill  the  world  with  his  voice ;  should  scatter  forth  light, 
nature,  time,  souls,  from  the  center  of  the  present  thought ;  and 
new  date  and  new  create  the  whole.  Whenever  a  mind  is  simple, 
and  receives  a  divine  wisdom,  old  things  pass  away,  —  means, 
teachers,  texts,  temples,  fall ;  it  lives  now,  and  absorbs  past  and 
future  into  the  present  hour.  All  things  are  made  sacred  by  rela 
tion  to  it,  —  one  as  much  as  another.  All  things  are  dissolved  to 
their  center  by  their  cause,  and,  in  the  universal  miracle,  petty  and 
particular  miracles  disappear.  If,  therefore,  a  man  claims  to  know 
and  speak  of  God,  and  carries  you  backward  to  the  phraseology  of 
some  old  moldered  nation  in  another  country,  in  another  world, 


340        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

believe  him  not.  Is  the  acorn  better  than  the  oak  which  is  its 
fullness  and  completion  ?  Is  the  parent  better  than  the  child  into 
whom  he  has  cast  his  ripened  being  ?  Whence,  then,  this  worship 
of  the  past  ?  The  centuries  are  conspirators  against  the  sanity  and 
authority  of  the  soul.  Time  and  space  are  but  physiological  colors 
which  the  eye  makes,  but  the  soul  is  light ;  where  it  is,  is  day ; 
where  it  was,  is  night ;  and  history  is  an  impertinence  and  an  in 
jury,  if  it  be  anything  more  than  a  cheerful  apologue  or  parable 
of  my  being  and  becoming. 

Man  is  timid  and  apologetic  ;  he  is  no  longer  upright ;  he  dares 
not  say  "  I  think,"  "  I  am,"  but  quotes  some  saint  or  sage.  He 
is  ashamed  before  the  blade  of  grass  or  the  blowing  rose.  These 
roses  under  my  window  make  no  reference  to  former  roses  or  to 
better  ones  ;  they  are  for  what  they  are  ;  they  exist  with  God 
to-day.  There  is  no  time  to  them.  There  is  simply  the  rose ; 
it  is  perfect  in  every  moment  of  its  existence.  Before  a  leaf -bud 
has  burst,  its  whole  life  acts ;  in  the  full-blown  flower  there  is  no 
more ;  in  the  leafless  root  there  is  no  less.  Its  nature  is  satisfied, 
and  it  satisfies  nature,  in  all  moments  alike.  But  man  postpones 
or  remembers  ;  he  does  not  live  in  the  present,  but  with  reverted 
eye  laments  the  past,  or,  heedless  of  the  riches  that  surround  him, 
stands  on  tiptoe  to  foresee  the  future.  He  cannot  be  happy  and 
strong  until  he  too  lives  with  nature  in  the  present,  above  time. 

This  should  be  plain  enough.  Yet  see  what  strong  intellects 
dare  not  yet  hear  God  himself,  unless  he  speak  the  phraseology 
of  I  know  not  what  David,  or  Jeremiah,  or  Paul.  We  shall  not 
always  set  so  great  a  price  on  a  few  texts,  on  a  few  lives.  We 
are  like  children  who  repeat  by  rote  the  sentences  of  grandames 
and  tutors,  and,  as  they  grow  older,  of  the  men  and  talents  and 
character  they  chance  to  see,  —  painfully  recollecting  the  exact 
words  they  spoke ;  afterwards,  when  they  come  into  the  point  of « 
view  which  those  had  who  uttered  these  sayings,  they  understand 
them,  and  are  willing  to  let  the  words  go ;  for,  at  any  time,  they 
can  use  words  as  good  when  occasion  comes.  If  we  live  truly,  we 
shall  see  truly.  It  is  as  easy  for  the  strong  man  to  be  strong,  as 
it  is  for  the  weak  to  be  weak.  When  we  have  new  perception, 
we  shall  gladly  disburden  the  memory  of  its  hoarded  treasures 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  341 

as  old  rubbish.  When  a  man  lives  with  God,  his  voice  shall  be 
as  sweet  as  the  murmur  of  the  brook  and  the  rustle  of  the  corn. 

And  now  at  last  the  highest  truth  on  this  subject  remains 
unsaid  ;  probably  cannot  be  said  ;  for  all  that  we  say  is  the  far-off 
remembering  of  the  intuition.  That  thought,  by  what  I  can  now 
nearest  approach  to  say  it,  is  this.  When  good  is  near  you,  when 
you  have  life  in  yourself,  it  is  not  by  any  known  or  accustomed 
way ;  you  shall  not  discern  the  footprints  of  any  other ;  you  shall 
not  see  the  face  of  man ;  you  shall  not  hear  any  name  ;  —  the 
way,  the  thought,  the  good,  shall  be  wholly  strange  and  new.  It 
shall  exclude  example  and  experience.  You  take  the  way  from 
man,  not  to  man.  All  persons  that  ever  existed  are  its  forgotten 
ministers.  Fear  and  hope  are  alike  beneath  it.  There  is  somewhat 
low  even  in  hope.  In  the  hour  of  vision,  there  is  nothing  that  can 
be  called  gratitude,  nor  properly  joy.  The  soul  raised  over  passion 
beholds  identity  and  eternal  causation,  perceives  the  self-existence 
of  Truth  and  Right,  and  calms  itself  with  knowing  that  all  things 
go  well.  Vast  spaces  of  nature,  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  the  South 
Sea, — long  intervals  of  time,  years,  centuries,  —  are  of  no  account. 
This  which  I  think  and  feel  underlay  every  former  state  of  life 
and  circumstances,  as  it  does  underlie  my  present,  and  what  is 
called  life,  and  what  is  called  death. 

Life  only  avails,  not  the  having  lived.  Power  ceases  in  the 
instant  of  repose ;  it  resides  in  the  moment  of  transition  from  a 
past  to  a  new  state,  in  the  shooting  of  the  gulf,  in  the  darting  to 
an  aim.  This  one  fact  the  world  hates,  that  the  soul  becomes ;  for 
that  forever  degrades  the  past,  turns  all  riches  to  poverty,  all  repu 
tation  to  shame,  confounds  the  saint  with  the  rogue,  shoves  Jesus 
and  Judas  equally  aside.  Why,  then,  do  we  prate  of  self-reliance  ? 
Inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  present,  there  will  be  power  not  confident 
but  agent.  To  talk  of  reliance  is  a  poor  external  way  of  speaking. 
Speak  rather  of  that  which  relies,  because  it  works  and  is.  Who 
has  more  obedience  than  I  masters  me,  though  he  should  not  raise 
his  finger.  Round  him  I  must  revolve  by  the  gravitation  of  spirits. 
We  fancy  it  rhetoric,  when  we  speak  of  eminent  virtue.  We  do 
not  yet  see  that  virtue  is  Height,  and  that  a  man  or  a  company 
of  men,  plastic  and  permeable  to  principles,  by  the  law  of  nature 


342        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

must  overpower  and  ride  all  cities,  nations,  kings,  rich  men, 
poets,  who  are  not. 

This  is  the  ultimate  fact  which  we  so  quickly  reach  on  this,  as 
on  every  topic,  the  resolution  of  all  into  the  ever-blessed  ONE. 
Self-existence  is  the  attribute  of  the  Supreme  Cause,  and  it  con 
stitutes  the  measure  of  good  by  the  degree  in  which  it  enters  into 
all  lower  forms.  All  things  real  are  so  by  so  much  virtue  as  they 
contain.  Commerce,  husbandry,  hunting,  whaling,  war,  eloquence, 
personal  weight,  are  somewhat,  and  engage  my  respect  as  examples 
of  its  presence  and  impure  action.  I  see  the  same  law  working 
in  nature  for  conservation  and  growth.  Power  is  in  nature  the 
essential  measure  of  right.  Nature  suffers  nothing  to  remain  in 
her  kingdoms  which  cannot  help  itself.  The  genesis  and  matura 
tion  of  a  planet,  its  poise  and  orbit,  the  bended  tree  recovering 
itself  from  the  strong  wind,  the  vital  resources  of  every  animal  and 
vegetable,  are  demonstrations  of  the  self-sufficing,  and  therefore 
self -relying  soul. 

Thus  all  concentrates  :  let  us  not  rove  ;  let  us  sit  at  home  with 
the  cause.  Let  us  stun  and  astonish  the  intruding  rabble  of  men 
and  books  and  institutions,  by  a  simple  declaration  of  the  divine 
fact.  Bid  the  invaders  take  the  shoes  from  off  their  feet,  for  God 
is  here  within.  Let  our  simplicity  judge  them,  and  our  docility 
to  our  own  law  demonstrate  the  poverty  of  nature  and  fortune 
beside  our  native  riches. 

But  now  we  are  a  mob.  Man  does  not  stand  in  awe  of  man, 
nor  is  his  genius  admonished  to  stay  at  home,  to  put  itself  in  com 
munication  with  the  internal  ocean,  but  it  goes  abroad  to  beg  a  cup 
of  water  of  the  urns  of  other  men.  We  must  go  alone.  I  like  the 
silent  church  before  the  service  begins,  better  than  any  preaching. 
How  far  off,  how  cool,  how  chaste  the  persons  look,  begirt  each 
one  with  a  precinct  or  sanctuary !  So  let  us  always  sit.  Why 
should  we  assume  the  faults  of  our  friend,  or  wife,  or  father,  or 
child,  because  they  sit  around  our  hearth,  or  are  said  to  have  the 
same  blood  ?  All  men  have  my  blood,  and  I  have  all  men's.  Not 
for  that  will  I  adopt  their  petulance  or  folly,  even  to  the  extent 
of  being  ashamed  of  it.  But  your  isolation  must  not  be  mechani 
cal,  but  spiritual,  that  is,  must  be  elevation.  At  times  the  whole 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  343 

world  seems  to  be  in  conspiracy  to  importune  you  with  emphatic 
trifles.  Friend,  client,  child,  sickness,  fear,  want,  charity,  all  knock 
at  once  at  thy  closet  door,  and  say,  "  Come  out  unto  us."  But 
keep  thy  state ;  come  not  into  their  confusion.  The  power  men 
possess  to  annoy  me,  I  give  them  by  a  weak  curiosity.  No  man 
can  come  near  me  but  through  my  act.  "  What  we  love  that  we 
have,  but  by  desire  we  bereave  ourselves  of  the  love." 

If  we  cannot  at  once  rise  to  the  sanctities  of  obedience  and 
faith,  let  us  at  least  resist  our  temptations ;  let  us  enter  into  the 
state  of  war,  and  wake  Thor  and  Woden,  courage  and  constancy, 
in  our  Saxon  breasts.  This  is  to  be  done  in  our  smooth  times  by 
speaking  the  truth.  Check  this  lying  hospitality  and  lying  affection. 
Live  no  longer  to  the  expectation  of  these  deceived  and  deceiving 
people  with  whom  we  converse.  Say  to  them,  O  father,  O  mother, 

0  wife,  O  brother,  O  friend,  I  have  lived  with  you  after  appear 
ances  hitherto.   Henceforward  I  am  the  truth's.   Be  it  known  unto 
you  that  henceforward  I  obey  no  law  less  than  the  eternal  law. 

1  will  have  no  covenants  but  proximities.     I  shall  endeavor  to 
nourish  my  parents,  to  support  my  family,  to  be  the  chaste  hus 
band  of  one  wife,  —  but  these  relations  I  must  fill  after  a  new 
and  unprecedented  way.   I  appeal  from  your  customs.    I  must  be 
myself.    I  cannot  break  myself  any  longer  for  you,  or  you.    If  you 
can  love  me  for  what  I  am,  we  shall  be  the  happier.    If  you  cannot, 
I  will  still  seek  to  deserve  that  you  should.    I  will  not  hide  my 
tastes  or  aversions.     I  will  so  trust  that  what  is  deep  is  holy, 
that  I  will  do  strongly  before  the  sun  and  moon  whatever  inly 
rejoices  me,  and  the  heart  appoints.    If  you  are  noble,  I  will  love 
you ;  if  you  are  not,  I  will  not  hurt  you  and  myself  by  hypocritical 
attentions.    If  you  are  true,  but  not  in  the  same  truth  with  me, 
cleave  to  your  companions ;  I  will  seek  my  own.    I  do  this  not 
selfishly,  but  humbly  and  truly.    It  is  alike  your  interest,  and  mine, 
and  all  men's,  however  long  we  have  dwelt  in  lies,  to  live  in  truth. 
Does  this  sound  harsh  to-day  ?    You  will  soon  love  what  is  dic 
tated  by  your  nature  as  well  as  mine,  and,  if  we  follow  the  truth, 
it  will  bring  us  out  safe  at  last.   But  so  may  you  give  these  friends 
pain.    Yes,  but  I  cannot  sell  my  liberty  and  my  power,  to  save 
their  sensibility.  Besides,  all  persons  have  their  moments  of  reason, 


344        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

when  they  look  out  into  the  region  of  absolute  truth  ;  then  will 
they  justify  me,  and  do  the  same  thing. 

The  populace  think  that  your  rejection  of  popular  standards  is 
a  rejection  of  all  standard,  and  mere  antinomianism  ;  and  the  bold 
sensualist  will  use  the  name  of  philosophy  to  gild  his  crimes.  But 
the  law  of  consciousness  abides.  There  are  two  confessionals,  in 
one  or  the  other  of  which  we  must  be  shriven.  You  may  fulfill 
your  round  of  duties  by  clearing  yourself  in  the  direct,  or  in  the 
reflex  way.  Consider  whether  you  have  satisfied  your  relations  to 
father,  mother,  cousin,  neighbor,  town,  cat,  and  dog ;  whether  any 
of  these  can  upbraid  you.  But  I  may  also  neglect  this  reflex  stand 
ard,  and  absolve  me  to  myself.  I  have  my  own  stern  claims  and 
perfect  circle.  It  denies  the  name  of  duty  to  many  offices  that 
are  called  duties.  But  if  I  can  discharge  its  debts,  it  enables  me 
to  dispense  with  the  popular  code.  If  any  one  imagines  that  this 
law  is  lax,  let  him  keep  its  commandment  one  day. 

And  truly  it  demands  something  godlike  in  him  who  has  cast 
off  the  common  motives  of  humanity,  and  has  ventured  to  trust 
himself  for  a  taskmaster.  High  be  his  heart,  faithful  his  will,  clear 
his  sight,  that  he  may  in  good  earnest  be  doctrine,  society,  law,  to 
himself,  that  a  simple  purpose  may  be  to  him  as  strong  as  iron 
necessity  is  to  others  ! 

If  any  man  consider  the  present  aspects  of  what  is  called  by  dis 
tinction  society,  he  will  see  the  need  of  these  ethics.  The  sinew 
and  heart  of  man  seem  to  be  drawn  out,  and  we  are  become  tim 
orous,  desponding  whimperers.  We  are  afraid  of  truth,  afraid  of 
fortune,  afraid  of  death,  and  afraid  of  each  other.  Our  age  yields 
no  great  and  perfect  persons.  We  want  men  and  women  who  shall 
renovate  life  and  our  social  state,  but  we  see  that  most  natures  are 
insolvent,  cannot  satisfy  their  own  wants,  have  an  ambition  out  of 
all  proportion  to  their  practical  force,  and  do  lean  and  beg  day 
and  night  continually.  Our  housekeeping  is  mendicant,  our  arts, 
our  occupations,  our  marriages,  our  religion,  we  have  not  chosen, 
but  society  has  chosen  for  us.  We  are  parlor  soldiers.  We  shun 
the  rugged  battle  of  fate,  where  strength  is  born. 

If  our  young  men  miscarry  in  their  first  enterprises,  they  lose 
all  heart.  If  the  young  merchant  fails,  men  say  he  is  ruined.  If 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  345 

the  finest  genius  studies  at  one  of  our  colleges,  and  is  not  installed 
in  an  office  within  one  year  afterwards  in  the  cities  or  suburbs  of 
Boston  or  New  York,  it  seems  to  his  friends  and  to  himself  that 
he  is  right  in  being  disheartened,  and  in  complaining  the  rest 
of  his  life.  A  sturdy  lad  from  New  Hampshire  or  Vermont,  who 
in  turn  tries  all  the  professions,  who  teams  it,  farms  it,  peddles, 
keeps  a  school,  preaches,  edits  a  newspaper,  goes  to  Congress, 
buys  a  township,  and  so  forth,  in  successive  years,  and  always,  like 
a  cat,  falls  on  his  feet,  is  worth  a  hundred  of  these  city  dolls.  He 
walks  abreast  with  his  days,  and  feels  no  shame  in  not  "  studying 
a  profession,"  for  he  does  not  postpone  his  life,  but  lives  already. 
He  has  not  one  chance,  but  a  hundred  chances.  Let  a  Stoic  open 
the  resources  of  man,  and  tell  men  they  are  not  leaning  willows, 
but  can  and  must  detach  themselves ;  that  with  the  exercise  of 
self-trust,  new  powers  shall  appear ;  that  a  man  is  the  word  made 
flesh,  born  to  shed  healing  to  the  nations,  that  he  should  be 
ashamed  of  our  compassion,  and  that  the  moment  he  acts  from 
himself,  tossing  the  laws,  the  books,  idolatries  and  customs  out  of 
the  window,  we  pity  him  no  more,  but  thank  and  revere  him,  — 
and  that  teacher  shall  restore  the  life  of  man  to  splendor,  and 
make  his  name  dear  to  all  history. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  a  greater  self-reliance  must  work  a  revolu 
tion  in  all  the  offices  and  relations  of  men  ;  in  their  religion  ;  in 
their  education ;  in  their  pursuits  ;  their  modes  of  living ;  their 
association  ;  in  their  property  ;  in  their  speculative  views. 

i .  In  what  prayers  do  men  allow  themselves  !  That  which  they 
call  a  holy  office  is  not  so  much  as  brave  and  manly.  Prayer  looks 
abroad  and  asks  for  some  foreign  addition  to  come  through  some 
foreign  virtue,  and  loses  itself  in  endless  mazes  of  natural  and 
supernatural,  and  mediatorial  and  miraculous.  Prayer  that  craves 
a  particular  commodity,  —  anything  less  than  all  good,  —  is  vicious. 
Prayer  is  the  contemplation  of  the  facts  of  life  from  the  highest 
point  of  view.  It  is  the  soliloquy  of  a  beholding  and  jubilant  soul. 
It  is  the  spirit  of  God  pronouncing  his  works  good.  But  prayer  as 
a  means  to  effect  a  private  end  is  meanness  and  theft.  It  supposes 
dualism  and  not  unity  in  nature  and  consciousness.  As  soon  as  the 
man  is  at  one  with  God,  he  will  not  beg.  He  will  then  see  prayer 


346        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

in  all  action.  The  prayer  of  the  farmer  kneeling  in  his  field  to 
weed  it,  the  prayer  of  the  rower  kneeling  with  the  stroke  of  his 
oar,  are  true  prayers  heard  throughout  nature,  though  for  cheap 
ends.  Caratach,  in  Fletcher's  Bonduca,  when  admonished  to 
inquire  the  mind  of  the  god  Audate,  replies,  — 

"  His  hidden  meaning  lies  in  our  endeavors ; 
Our  valors  are  our  best  gods." 

Another  sort  of  false  prayers  are  our  regrets.  Discontent  is  the 
want  of  self-reliance  :  it  is  infirmity  of  will.  Regret  calamities,  if 
you  can  thereby  help  the  sufferer ;  if  not,  attend  your  own  work, 
and  already  the  evil  begins  to  be  repaired.  Our  sympathy  is  just 
as  base.  We  come  to  them  who  weep  foolishly,  and  sit  down  and 
cry  for  company,  instead  of  imparting  to  them  truth  and  health  in 
rough  electric  shocks,  putting  them  once  more  in  communication 
with  their  own  reason.  The  secret  of  fortune  is  joy  in  our  hands. 
Welcome  evermore  to  gods  and  men  is  the  self -helping  man. 
For  him  all  doors  are  flung  wide :  him  all  tongues  greet,  all 
honors  crown,  all  eyes  follow  with  desire.  Our  love  goes  out  to 
him  and  embraces  him,  because  he  did  not  need  it.  We  solicit 
ously  and  apologetically  caress  and  celebrate  him,  because  he 
held  on  his  way  and  scorned  our  disapprobation.  The  gods  love 
him  because  men  hated  him.  "To  the  persevering  mortal,"  said 
Zoroaster,  "the  blessed  Immortals  are  swift." 

As  men's  prayers  are  a  disease  of  the  will,  so  are  their  creeds 
a  disease  of  the  intellect.  They  say  with  those  foolish  Israelites, 
"  Let  not  God  speak  to  us,  lest  we  die.  Speak  thou,  speak  any 
man  with  us,  and  we  will  obey."  Everywhere  I  am  hindered  of 
meeting  God  in  my  brother,  because  he  has  shut  his  own  temple 
doors,  and  recites  fables  merely  of  his  brother's,  or  his  brother's 
brother's  God.  Every  new  mind  is  a  new  classification.  If  it  prove 
a  mind  of  uncommon  activity  and  power,  a  Locke,  a  Lavoisier,  a 
Hutton,  a  Bentham,  a  Fourier,  it  imposes  its  classification  on  other 
men,  and  lo !  a  new  system.  In  proportion  to  the  depth  of  the 
thought,  and  so  to  the  number  of  the  objects  it  touches  and  brings 
within  reach  of  the  pupil,  is  his  complacency.  But  chiefly  is  this 
apparent  in  creeds  and  churches,  which  are  also  classifications  of 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  347 

some  powerful  mind  acting  on  the  elemental  thought  of  duty,  and 
man's  relation  to  the  Highest.  Such  is  Calvinism,  Quakerism, 
Swedenborgism.  The  pupil  takes  the  same  delight  in  subordinat 
ing  everything  to  the  new  terminology,  as  a  girl  who  has  just  learned 
botany  in  seeing  a  new  earth  and  new  seasons  thereby.  It  will  hap 
pen  for  a  time,  that  the  pupil  will  find  his  intellectual  power  has 
grown  by  the  study  of  his  master's  mind.  But  in  all  unbalanced 
minds,  the  classification  is  idolized,  passes  for  the  end,  and  not  for 
a  speedily  exhaustible  means,  so  that  the  walls  of  the  system  blend 
to  their  eye  in  the  remote  horizon  with  the  walls  of  the  universe ; 
the  luminaries  of  heaven  seem  to  them  hung  on  the  arch  their  mas 
ter  built.  They  cannot  imagine  how  you  aliens  have  any  right  to 
see,  —  how  you  can  see  ;  "It  must  be  somehow  that  you  stole  the 
light  from  us."  They  do  not  yet  perceive  that  light,  unsystematic, 
indomitable,  will  break  into  any  cabin,  even  into  theirs.  Let  them 
chirp  awhile  and  call  it  their  own.  If  they  are  honest  and  do  well, 
presently  their  neat  new  pinfold  will  be  too  strait  and  low,  will  crack, 
will  lean,  will  rot  and  vanish,  and  the  immortal  light,  all  young  and 
joyful,  million-orbed,  million-colored,  will  beam  over  the  universe 
as  on  the  first  morning. 

2.  It  is  for  want  of  self-culture  that  the  superstition  of  Traveling, 
whose  idols  are  Italy,  England,  Egypt,  retains  its  fascination  for  all 
educated  Americans.  They  who  made  England,  Italy,  or  Greece 
venerable  in  the  imagination  did  so  by  sticking  fast  where  they 
were,  like  an  axis  of  the  earth.  In  manly  hours,  we  feel  that  duty 
is  our  place.  The  soul  is  no  traveler;  the  wise  man  stays  at  home, 
and  when  his  necessities,  his  duties,  on  any  occasion  call  him  from 
his  house,  or  into  foreign  lands,  he  is  at  home  still,  and  shall  make 
men  sensible  by  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  that  he  goes  the 
missionary  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  and  visits  cities  and  men  like  a 
sovereign,  and  not  like  an  interloper  or  a  valet. 

I  have  no  churlish  objection  to  the  circumnavigation  of  the  globe, 
for  the  purposes  of  art,  of  study,  and  benevolence,  so  that  the  man 
is  first  domesticated,  or  does  not  go  abroad  with  the  hope  of  find 
ing  somewhat  greater  than  he  knows.  He  who  travels  to  be  amused, 
or  to  get  somewhat  which  he  does  not  carry,  travels  away  from  him 
self,  and  grows  old  even  in  youth  among  old  things.  In  Thebes, 


34B        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

in  Palmyra,  his  will  and  mind  have  become  old  and  dilapidated 
as  they.  He  carries  ruins  to  ruins. 

Traveling  is  a  fool's  paradise.  Our  first  journeys  discover  to  us 
the  indifference  of  places.  At  home  I  dream  that  at  Naples,  at 
Rome,  I  can  be  intoxicated  with  beauty,  and  lose  my  sadness.  I 
pack  my  trunk,  embrace  my  friends,  embark  on  the  sea,  and  at  last 
wake  up  in  Naples,  and  there  beside  me  is  the  stern  fact,  the  sad 
self,  unrelenting,  identical,  that  I  fled  from.  1  seek  the  Vatican,  and 
the  palaces.  I  affect  to  be  intoxicated  with  sights  and  suggestions, 
but  I  am  not  intoxicated.  My  giant  goes  with  me  wherever  I  go. 

3.  But  the  rage  of  traveling  is  a  symptom  of  a  deeper  unsound- 
ness  affecting  the  whole  intellectual  action.  The  intellect  is  vaga 
bond,  and  our  system  of  education  fosters  restlessness.  Our  minds 
travel  when  our  bodies  are  forced  to  stay  at  home.  We  imitate ; 
and  what  is  imitation  but  the  traveling  of  the  mind  ?  Our  houses 
are  built  with  foreign  taste  ;  our  shelves  are  garnished  with  foreign 
ornaments  ;  our  opinions,  our  tastes,  our  faculties,  lean,  and  follow 
the  Past  and  the  Distant.  The  soul  created  the  arts  wherever  they 
have  flourished.  It  was  in  his  own  mind  that  the  artist  sought  his 
model.  It  was  an  application  of  his  own  thought  to  the  thing  to  be 
done  and  the  conditions  to  be  observed.  And  why  need  we  copy 
the  Doric  or  the  Gothic  model  ?  Beauty,  convenience,  grandeur  of 
thought,  and  quaint  expression  are  as  near  to  us  as  to  any,  and  if 
the  American  artist  will  study  with  hope  and  love  the  precise  thing 
to  be  done  by  him,  considering  the  climate,  the  soil,  the  length  of 
the  day,  the  wants  of  the  people,  the  habit  and  form  of  the  govern 
ment,  he  will  create  a  house  in  which  all  these  will  find  themselves 
fitted,  and  taste  and  sentiment  will  be  satisfied  also. 

Insist  on  yourself  ;  never  imitate.  Your  own  gift  you  can  present 
every  moment  with  the  cumulative  force  of  a  whole  life's  cultivation ; 
but  of  the  adopted  talent  of  another,  you  have  only  an  extemporane 
ous,  half  possession.  That  which  each  can  do  best,  none  but  his 
Maker  can  teach  him.  No  man  yet  knows  what  it  is,  nor  can,  till 
that  person  has  exhibited  it.  Where  is  the  master  who  could  have 
taught  Shakespeare  ?  Where  is  the  master  who  could  have  instructed 
Franklin,  or  Washington,  or  Bacon,  or  Newton  ?  Every  great  man 
is  a  unique.  The  Scipionism  of  Scipio  is  precisely  that  part  he  could 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  349 

not  borrow.  Shakespeare  will  never  be  made  by  the  study  of  Shake 
speare.  Do  that  which  is  assigned  you,  and  you  cannot  hope  too 
much  or  dare  too  much.  There  is  at  this  moment  for  you  an  utter 
ance  brave  and  grand  as  that  of  the  colossal  chisel  of  Phidias,  or 
trowel  of  the  Egyptians,  or  the  pen  of  Moses  or  Dante,  but  differ 
ent  from  all  these.  Not  possibly  will  the  soul  all  rich,  all  eloquent, 
with  thousand-cloven  tongue,  deign  to  repeat  itself ;  but  if  you  can 
hear  what  these  patriarchs  say,  surely  you  can  reply  to  them  in  the 
same  pitch  of  voice ;  for  the  ear  and  the  tongue  are  two  organs 
of  one  nature.  Abide  in  the  simple  and  noble  regions  of  thy  life, 
obey  thy  heart,  and  thou  shalt  reproduce  the  Fore  world  again. 

4.  As  our  Religion,  our  Education,  our  Art  look  abroad,  so 
does  our  spirit  of  society.  All  men  plume  themselves  on  the 
improvement  of  society,  and  no  man  improves. 

Society  never  advances.  It  recedes  as  fast  on  one  side  as  it 
gains  on  the  other.  It  undergoes  continual  changes ;  it  is  bar 
barous,  it  is  civilized,  it  is  christianized,  it  is  rich,  it  is  scientific  ; 
but  this  change  is  not  amelioration.  For  everything  that  is  given, 
something  is  taken.  Society  acquires  new  arts,  and  loses  old  in 
stincts.  What  a  contrast  between  the  well-clad,  reading,  writing, 
thinking  American,  with  a  watch,  a  pencil,  and  a  bill  of  exchange 
in  his  pocket,  and  the  naked  New  Zealander,  whose  property  is  a 
club,  a  spear,  a  mat,  and  an  undivided  twentieth  of  a  shed  to  sleep 
under!  But  compare  the  health  of  the  two  men,  and  you  shall  see 
that  the  white  man  has  lost  his  aboriginal  strength.  If  the  traveler 
tell  us  truly,  strike  the  savage  with  a  broad  ax,  and  in  a  day  or  two 
the  flesh  shall  unite  and  heal  as  if  you  struck  the  blow  into  soft 
pitch,  and  the  same  blow  shall  send  the  white  to  his  grave. 

The  civilized  man  has  built  a  coach,  but  has  lost  the  use  of  his 
feet.  He  is  supported  on  crutches,  but  lacks  so  much  support  of 
muscle.  He  has  a  fine  Geneva  watch,  but  he  fails  of  the  skill  to 
tell  the  hour  by  the  sun.  A  Greenwich  nautical  almanac  he  has, 
and  so  being  sure  of  the  information  when  he  wants  it,  the  man 
in  the  street  does  not  know  a  star  in  the  sky.  The  solstice  he 
does  not  observe ;  the  equinox  he  knows  as  little  ;  and  the  whole 
bright  calendar  of  the  year  is  without  a  dial  in  his  mind.  His 
notebooks  impair  his  memory ;  his  libraries  overload  his  wit ;  the 


350        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

insurance  office  increases  the  number  of  accidents ;  and  it  may 
be  a  question  whether  machinery  does  not  encumber;  whether 
we  have  not  lost  by  refinement  some  energy,  by  a  Christianity 
intrenched  in  establishments  and  forms,  some  vigor  of  wild  vir 
tue.  For  every  Stoic  was  a  Stoic ;  but  in  Christendom  where  is 
the  Christian  ? 

There  is  no  more  deviation  in  the  moral  standard  than  in  the 
standard  of  height  or  bulk.  No  greater  men  are  now  than  ever 
were.  A  singular  equality  may  be  observed  between  the  great 
men  of  the  first  and  of  the  last  ages  ;  nor  can  all  the  science,  art, 
religion,  and  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth  century  avail  to  educate 
greater  men  than  Plutarch's  heroes,  three  or  four  and  twenty  cen 
turies  ago.  Not  in  time  is  the  race  progressive.  Phocion,  Socrates, 
Anaxagoras,  Diogenes,  are  great  men,  but  they  leave  no  class.  He 
who  is  really  of  their  class  will  not  be  called  by  their  name,  but 
will  be  his  own  man,  and,  in  his  turn,  the  founder  of  a  sect.  The 
arts  and  inventions  of  each  period  are  only  its  costume,  and  do  not 
invigorate  men.  The  harm  of  the  improved  machinery  may  com 
pensate  its  good.  Hudson  and  Bering  accomplished  so  much  in 
their  fishing  boats  as  to  astonish  Parry  and  Franklin,  whose  equip 
ment  exhausted  the  resources  of  science  and  art.  Galileo,  with  an 
opera-glass,  discovered  a  more  splendid  series  of  celestial  phenomena 
than  any  one  since.  Columbus  found  the  New  World  in  an  un 
decked  boat.  It  is  curious  to  see  the  periodical  disuse  and  perish 
ing  of  means  and  machinery,  which  were  introduced  with  loud 
laudation  a  few  years  or  centuries  before.  The  great  genius  returns 
to  essential  man.  We  reckoned  the  improvements  of  the  art  of 
war  among  the  triumphs  of  science,  and  yet  Napoleon  conquered 
Europe  by  the  bivouac,  which  consisted  of  falling  back  on  naked 
valor,  and  disencumbering  it  of  all  aids.  The  Emperor  held  it 
impossible  to  make  a  perfect  army,  says  Las  Casas,  "without 
abolishing  our  arms,  magazines,  commissaries,  and  carriages, 
until,  in  imitation  of  the  Roman  custom,  the  soldier  should  re 
ceive  his  supply  of  corn,  grind  it  in  his  handmill,  and  bake  his 
bread  himself." 

Society  is  a  wave.  The  wave  moves  onward,  but  the  water  of 
which  it  is  composed  does  not.  The  same  particle  does  not  rise 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  351 

from  the  valley  to  the  ridge.  Its  unity  is  only  phenomenal.  The 
persons  who  make  up  a  nation  to-day,  next  year  die,  and  their 
experience  with  them. 

And  so  the  reliance  on  Property,  including  the  reliance  on 
governments  which  protect  it,  is  the  want  of  self-reliance.  Men 
have  looked  away  from  themselves  and  at  things  so  long,  that 
they  have  come  to  esteem  the  religious,  learned,  and  civil  institu 
tions  as  guards  of  property,  and  they  deprecate  assaults  on  these, 
because  they  feel  them  to  be  assaults  on  property.  They  measure 
their  esteem  of  each  other  by  what  each  has,  and  not  by  what 
each  is.  But  a  cultivated  man  becomes  ashamed  of  his  property, 
out  of  new  respect  for  his  nature.  Especially  he  hates  what  he 
has,  if  he  see  that  it  is  accidental, — came  to  him  by  inheritance, 
or  gift,  or  crime ;  then  he  feels  that  it  is  not  having ;  it  does  not 
belong  to  him,  has  no  root  in  him,  and  merely  lies  there,  because 
no  revolution  or  no  robber  takes  it  away.  But  that  which  a  man 
is,  does  always  by  necessity  acquire,  and  what  the  man  acquires  is 
living  property,  which  does  not  wait  the  beck  of  rulers,  or  mobs, 
or  revolutions,  or  fire,  or  storm,  or  bankruptcies,  but  perpetually 
renews  itself  wherever  the  man  breathes.  "  Thy  lot  or  portion  of 
life,"  said  the  Caliph  AH,  "  is  seeking  after  thee ;  therefore  be 
at  rest  from  seeking  after  it."  Our  dependence  on  these  foreign 
goods  leads  us  to  our  slavish  respect  for  numbers.  The  political 
parties  meet  in  numerous  conventions  ;  the  greater  the  concourse, 
and  with  each  new  uproar  of  announcement,  The  delegation  from 
Essex !  The  Democrats  from  New  Hampshire !  The  Whigs  of 
Maine !  The  young  patriot  feels  himself  stronger  than  before  by 
a  new  thousand  of  eyes  and  arms.  In  like  manner  the  reformers 
summon  conventions,  and  vote  and  resolve  in  multitude.  Not  so, 
O  friends !  will  the  god  deign  to  enter  and  inhabit  you,  but  by 
a  method  precisely  the  reverse.  It  is  only  as  a  man  puts  off  all 
foreign  support,  and  stands  alone,  that  I  see  him  to  be  strong  and 
to  prevail.  He  is  weaker  by  every  recruit  to  his  banner.  Is  not  a 
man  better  than  a  town  ?  Ask  nothing  of  men,  and  in  the  endless 
mutation,  thou  only  firm  column  must  presently  appear  the  up 
holder  of  all  that  surrounds  thee.  He  who  knows  that  power  is 
inborn,  that  he  is  weak  because  he  has  looked  for  good  out  of  him 


352        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

and  elsewhere,  and  so  perceiving,  throws  himself  unhesitatingly  on 
his  thought,  instantly  rights  himself,  stands  in  the  erect  position, 
commands  his  limbs,  works  miracles  ;  just  as  a  man  who  stands 
on  his  feet  is  stronger  than  a  man  who  stands  on  his  head. 

So  use  all  that  is  called  Fortune.  Most  men  gamble  with  her, 
and  gain  all,  and  lose  all,  as  her  wheel  rolls.  But  do  thou  leave 
as  unlawful  these  winnings,  and  deal  with  Cause  and  Effect,  the 
chancelors  of  God.  In  the  Will  work  and  acquire,  and  thou  hast 
chained  the  wheel  of  Chance,  and  shalt  sit  hereafter  out  of  fear 
from  her  rotations.  A  political  victory,  a  rise  of  rents,  the  recovery 
of  your  sick,  or  the  return  of  your  absent  friend,  or  some  other 
favorable  event,  raises  your  spirits,  and  you  think  good  days 
are  preparing  for  you.  Do  not  believe  it.  Nothing  can  bring 
you  peace  but  yourself.  Nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but  the 
triumph  of  principles. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

[Born  at  Salem,  Massachusetts,  July  4,  1804;  died  at  Plymouth,  New  Hamp 
shire,  May  19,  1864] 

THE  GRAY  CHAMPION 
FROM  "  TWICE-TOLD  TALES  " 

There  was  once  a  time  when  New  England  groaned  under  the 
actual  pressure  of  heavier  wrongs  than  those  threatened  ones  which 
brought  on  the  Revolution.  James  II,  the  bigoted  successor  of 
Charles  the  Voluptuous,  had  annulled  the  charters  of  all  the  colo 
nies,  and  sent  a  harsh  and  unprincipled  soldier  to  take  away  our 
liberties  and  endanger  our  religion.  The  administration  of  Sir 
Edmund  Andros  lacked  scarcely  a  single  characteristic  of  tyranny : 
a  Governor  and  Council,  holding  office  from  the  King,  and  wholly 
independent  of  the  country ;  laws  made  and  taxes  levied  without 
concurrence  of  the  people  immediate  or  by  their  representatives ; 
the  rights  of  private  citizens  violated,  and  the  titles  of  all  landed 
property  declared  void  ;  the  voice  of  complaint  stifled  by  restric 
tions  on  the  press  ;  and,  finally,  disaffection  overawed  by  the  first 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  353 

band  of  mercenary  troops  that  ever  marched  on  our  free  soil.  For 
two  years  our  ancestors  were  kept  in  sullen  submission  by  that  filial 
love  which  had  invariably  secured  their  allegiance  to  the  mother 
country,  whether  its  head  chanced  to  be  a  Parliament,  Protector, 
or  Popish  Monarch.  Till  these  evil  times,  however,  such  allegiance 
had  been  merely  nominal,  and  the  colonists  had  ruled  themselves, 
enjoying  far  more  freedom  than  is  even  yet  the  privilege  of  the 
native  subjects  of  Great  Britain. 

At  length  a  rumor  reached  our  shores  that  the  Prince  of  Orange 
had  ventured  on  an  enterprise  the  success  of  which  would  be  the 
triumph  of  civil  and  religious  rights  and  the  salvation  of  New  Eng 
land.  It  was  but  a  doubtful  whisper ;  it  might  be  false,  or  the  at 
tempt  might  fail ;  and,  in  either  case,  the  man  that  stirred  against 
King  James  would  lose  his  head.  Still,  the  intelligence  produced 
a  marked  effect.  The  people  smiled  mysteriously  in  the  streets, 
and  threw  bold  glances  at  their  oppressors ;  while,  far  and  wide, 
there  was  a  subdued  and  silent  agitation,  as  if  the  slightest  signal 
would  rouse  the  whole  land  from  its  sluggish  despondency.  Aware 
of  their  danger,  the  rulers  resolved  to  avert  it  by  an  imposing  dis 
play  of  strength,  and  perhaps  to  confirm  their  despotism  by  yet 
harsher  measures.  One  afternoon  in  April,  1689,  Sir  Edmund 
Andros  and  his  favorite  councillors,  being  warm  with  wine, 
assembled  the  redcoats  of  the  Governor's  Guard,  and  made  their 
appearance  in  the  streets  of  Boston.  The  sun  was  near  setting 
when  the  march  commenced. 

The  roll  of  the  drum,  at  that  unquiet  crisis,  seemed  to  go  through 
the  streets,  less  as  the  martial  music  of  the  soldiers,  than  as  a 
muster-call  to  the  inhabitants  themselves.  A  multitude,  by  various 
avenues,  assembled  in  King  Street,  which  was  destined  to  be  the 
scene,  nearly  a  century  afterwards,  of  another  encounter  between 
the  troops  of  Britain  and  a  people  struggling  against  her  tyranny. 
Though  more  than  sixty  years  had  elapsed  since  the  Pilgrims 
came,  this  crowd  of  their  descendants  still  showed  the  strong  and 
sombre  features  of  their  character,  perhaps  more  strikingly  in  such 
a  stern  emergency  than  on  happier  occasions.  There  were  the  sober 
garb,  the  general  severity  of  mien,  the  gloomy  but  undismayed 
expression,  the  scriptural  forms  of  speech,  and  the  confidence 


354        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

in  Heaven's  blessing  on  a  righteous  cause,  which  would  have 
marked  a  band  of  the  original  Puritans,  when  threatened  by  some 
peril  of  the  wilderness.  Indeed,  it  was  not  yet  time  for  the  old 
spirit  to  be  extinct ;  since  there  were  men  in  the  street  that  day 
who  had  worshipped  there  beneath  the  trees,  before  a  house  was 
reared  to  the  God  for  whom  they  had  become  exiles.  Old  soldiers 
of  the  Parliament  were  here,  too,  smiling  grimly  at  the  thought 
that  their  aged  arms  might  strike  another  blow  against  the  house 
of  Stuart.  Here,  also,  were  the  veterans  of  King  Philip's  war, 
who  had  burned  villages  and  slaughtered  young  and  old,  with 
pious  fierceness,  while  the  godly  souls  throughout  the  land  were 
helping  them  with  prayer.  Several  ministers  were  scattered  among 
the  crowd,  which,  unlike  all  other  mobs,  regarded  them  with  such 
reverence,  as  if  there  were  sanctity  in  their  very  garments.  These 
holy  men  exerted  their  influence  to  quiet  the  people,  but  not  to 
disperse  them.  Meantime,  the  purpose  of  the  Governor,  in  dis 
turbing  the  peace  of  the  town  at  a  period  when  the  slightest 
commotion  might  throw  the  country  into  a  ferment,  was  almost 
the  universal  subject  of  inquiry,  and  variously  explained. 

" Satan  will  strike  his  master-stroke  presently,"  cried  some,  "be 
cause  he  knoweth  that  his  time  is  short.  All  our  godly  pastors  are 
to  be  dragged  to  prison  !  We  shall  see  them  at  a  Smithfield  fire 
in  King  Street !  " 

Hereupon  the  people  of  each  parish  gathered  closer  round  their 
minister,  who  looked  calmly  upward  and  assumed  a  more  apostolic 
dignity,  as  well  befitted  a  candidate  for  the  highest  honor  of  his 
profession  —  a  crown  of  martyrdom.  It  was  actually  fancied  at 
that  period  that  New  England  might  have  a  John  Rogers  of  her 
own  to  take  the  place  of  that  worthy  in  the  Primer. 

"  The  Pope  of  Rome  has  given  orders  for  a  new  St.  Bartholo 
mew  !  "  cried  others.  "  We  are  to  be  massacred,  man  and  male 
child !  " 

Neither  was  this  rumor  wholly  discredited,  although  the  wiser 
class  believed  the  Governor's  object  somewhat  less  atrocious.  His 
predecessor  under  the  old  charter,  Bradstreet,  a  venerable  com 
panion  of  the  first  settlers,  was  known  to  be  in  town.  There  were 
grounds  for  conjecturing  that  Sir  Edmund  Andros  intended,  at 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  355 

once,  to  strike  terror,  by  a  parade  of  military  force,  and  to  con 
found  the  opposite  faction  by  possessing  himself  of  their  chief. 

"Stand  firm  for  the  old  charter,  Governor!"  shouted  the  crowd, 
seizing  upon  the  idea.  "  The  good  old  Governor  Bradstreet !  " 

While  this  cry  was  at  the  loudest,  the  people  were  surprised  by 
the  well-known  figure  of  Governor  Bradstreet  himself,  a  patriarch 
of  nearly  ninety,  who  appeared  on  the  elevated  steps  of  a  door, 
and,  with  characteristic  mildness,  besought  them  to  submit  to 
the  constituted  authorities. 

"  My  children,"  concluded  this  venerable  person,  "  do  nothing 
rashly.  Cry  not  aloud,  but  pray  for  the  welfare  of  New  England, 
and  expect  patiently  what  the  Lord  will  do  in  this  matter !  " 

The  event  was  soon  to  be  decided.  All  this  time,  the  roll  of  the 
drum  had  been  approaching  through  Cornhill,  louder  and  deeper, 
till  with  reverberations  from  house  to  house,  and  the  regular  tramp 
of  martial  footsteps,  it  burst  into  the  street.  A  double  rank  of  sol 
diers  made  their  appearance,  occupying  the  whole  breadth  of  the 
passage,  with  shouldered  matchlocks,  and  matches  burning,  so  as 
to  present  a  row  of  fires  in  the  dusk.  Their  steady  march  was  like 
the  progress  of  a  machine,  that  would  roll  irresistibly  over  every 
thing  in  its  way.  Next,  moving  slowly,  with  a  confused  clatter  of 
hoofs  on  the  pavement,  rode  a  party  of  mounted  gentlemen,  the 
central  figure  being  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  elderly,  but  erect  and 
soldier-like.  Those  around  him  were  his  favorite  councillors,  and 
the  bitterest  foes  of  New  England.  At  his  right  hand  rode  Edward 
Randolph,  our  arch-enemy,  that  "blasted  wretch,"  as  Cotton 
Mather  calls  him,  who  achieved  the  downfall  of  our  ancient  gov 
ernment,  and  was  followed  with  a  sensible  curse,  through  life  and 
to  his  grave.  On  the  other  side  was  Bullivant,  scattering  jests  and 
mockery  as  he  rode  along.  Dudley  came  behind,  with  a  downcast 
look,  dreading,  as  well  he  might,  to  meet  the  indignant  gaze  of  the 
people,  who  beheld  him,  their  only  countryman  by  birth,  among 
the  oppressors  of  his  native  land.  The  captain  of  a  frigate  in  the 
harbor,  and  two  or  three  civil  officers  under  the  Crown,  were  also 
there.  But  the  figure  which  most  attracted  the  public  eye,  and 
stirred  up  the  deepest  feeling,  was  the  Episcopal  clergyman  of 
King's  Chapel,  riding  haughtily  among  the  magistrates  in  his 


356        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

priestly  vestments,  the  fitting  representative  of  prelacy  and  perse 
cution,  the  union  of  Church  and  State,  and  all  those  abominations 
which  had  driven  the  Puritans  to  the  wilderness.  Another  guard 
of  soldiers,  in  double  rank,  brought  up  the  rear. 

The  whole  scene  was  a  picture  of  the  condition  of  New  Eng 
land,  and  its  moral,  the  deformity  of  any  government  that  does 
not  grow  out  of  the  nature  of  things  and  the  character  of  the  peo 
ple.  On  one  side  the  religious  multitude,  with  their  sad  visages 
and  dark  attire,  and  on  the  other,  the  group  of  despotic  rulers,  with 
the  high  churchman  in  the  midst,  and  here  and  there  a  crucifix  at 
their  bosoms,  all  magnificently  clad,  flushed  with  wine,  proud  of 
unjust  authority,  and  scoffing  at  the  universal  groan.  And  the  mer 
cenary  soldiers,  waiting  but  the  word  to  deluge  the  street  with  blood, 
showed  the  only  means  by  which  obedience  could  be  secured. 

"  O  Lord  of  Hosts,"  cried  a  voice  among  the  crowd,  "  provide 
a  Champion  for  thy  people !  " 

This  ejaculation  was  loudly  uttered,  and  served  as  a  herald's  cry, 
to  introduce  a  remarkable  personage.  The  crowd  had  rolled  back, 
and  were  now  huddled  together  nearly  at  the  extremity  of  the 
street,  while  the  soldiers  had  advanced  no  more  than  a  third  of 
its  length.  The  intervening  space  was  empty  —  a  paved  solitude, 
between  lofty  edifices,  which  threw  almost  a  twilight  shadow  over 
it.  Suddenly,  there  was  seen  the  figure  of  an  ancient  man,  who 
seemed  to  have  emerged  from  among  the  people,  and  was  walking 
by  himself  along  the  centre  of  the  street,  to  confront  the  armed 
band.  He  wore  the  old  Puritan  dress,  a  dark  cloak  and  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat,  in  the  fashion  of  at  least  fifty  years  before,  with  a 
heavy  sword  upon  his  thigh,  but  a  staff  in  his  hand  to  assist  the 
tremulous  gait  of  age. 

When  at  some  distance  from  the  multitude,  the  old  man  turned 
slowly  round,  displaying  a  face  of  antique  majesty,  rendered  doubly 
venerable  by  the  hoary  beard  that  descended  on  his  breast.  He 
made  a  gesture  at  once  of  encouragement  and  warning,  then  turned 
again,  and  resumed  his  way. 

"Who  is  this  gray  patriarch  ? "  asked  the  young  men  of  their  sires. 

"  Who  is  this  venerable  brother  ? "  asked  the  old  men  among 
themselves. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  357 

But  none  could  make  reply.  The  fathers  of  the  people,  those 
of  fourscore  years  and  upwards,  were  disturbed,  deeming  it 
strange  that  they  should  forget  one  of  such  evident  authority, 
whom  they  must  have  known  in  their  early  days,  the  associate 
of  Winthrop,  and  all  the  old  councillors,  giving  laws,  and  mak 
ing  prayers,  and  leading  them  against  the  savage.  The  elderly 
men  ought  to  have  remembered  him,  too,  with  locks  as  gray 
in  their  youth,  as  their  own  were  now.  And  the  young !  How 
could  he  have  passed  so  utterly  from  their  memories  —  that 
hoary  sire,  the  relic  of  long-departed  times,  whose  awful  bene 
diction  had  surely  been  bestowed  on  their  uncovered  heads,  in 
childhood  ? 

11  Whence  did  he  come  ?  What  is  his  purpose  ?  Who  can  this 
old  man  be  ?  "  whispered  the  wondering  crowd. 

Meanwhile,  the  venerable  stranger,  staff  in  hand,  was  pursuing 
his  solitary  walk  along  the  centre  of  the  street.  As  he  drew  near 
the  advancing  soldiers,  and  as  the  roll  of  their  drum  came  full  upon 
his  ear,  the  old  man  raised  himself  to  a  loftier  mien,  while  the 
decrepitude  of  age  seemed  to  fall  from  his  shoulders,  leaving 
him  in  gray  but  unbroken  dignity.  Now,  he  marched  onward 
with  a  warrior's  step,  keeping  time  to  the  military  music.  Thus 
the  aged  form  advanced  on  one  side,  and  the  whole  parade  of 
soldiers  and  magistrates  on  the  other,  till,  when  scarcely  twenty 
yards  remained  between,  the  old  man  grasped  his  staff  by  the 
middle  and  held  it  before  him  like  a  leader's  truncheon. 

"  Stand  !  "  cried  he. 

The  eye,  the  face  and  attitude  of  command,  the  solemn  yet  war 
like  peal  of  that  voice  —  fit  either  to  rule  a  host  in  the  battle-field 
or  be  raised  to  God  in  prayer  —  were  irresistible.  At  the  old  man's 
word  and  outstretched  arm  the  roll  of  the  drum  was  hushed  at  once 
and  the  advancing  line  stood  still.  A  tremulous  enthusiasm  seized 
upon  the  multitude.  That  stately  form,  combining  the  leader  and 
the  saint,  so  gray,  so  dimly  seen,  in  such  an  ancient  garb,  could 
only  belong  to  some  old  champion  of  the  righteous  cause  whom 
the  oppressor's  drum  had  summoned  from  his  grave.  They  raised 
a  shout  of  awe  and  exultation,  and  looked  for  the  deliverance  of 
New  England. 


358        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  governor  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  party,  perceiving  them 
selves  brought  to  an  unexpected  stand,  rode  hastily  forward,  as  if 
they  would  have  pressed  their  snorting  and  affrighted  horses  right 
against  the  hoary  apparition.  He,  however,  blenched  not  a  step, 
but,  glancing  his  severe  eye  round  the  group,  which  half  encom 
passed  him,  at  last  bent  it  sternly  on  Sir  Edmund  Andros.  One 
would  have  thought  that  the  dark  old  man  was  chief  ruler  there, 
and  that  the  governor  and  council  with  soldiers  at  their  back, 
representing  the  whole  power  and  authority  of  the  crown,  had 
no  alternative  but  obedience. 

"  What  does  this  old  fellow  here  ?  "  cried  Edward  Randolph, 
fiercely.    "  On,  Sir  Edmund  !    Bid  the  soldiers  forward  and  give 
the  dotard  the  same  choice  that  you  give  all  his  countrymen  — 
to  stand  aside  or  be  trampled  on." 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  us  show  respect  to  the  good  grandsire,"  said 
Bullivant,  laughing.  "  See  you  not,  he  is  some  old  round-headed 
dignitary,  who  hath  lain  asleep  these  thirty  years,  and  knows 
nothing  of  the  change  of  times  ?  Doubtless,  he  thinks  to  put  us 
down  with  a  proclamation  in  Old  Noll's  name !" 

"  Are  you  mad,  old  man  ? "  demanded  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  in 
loud  and  harsh  tones.  "  How  dare  you  stay  the  march  of  King 
James's  Governor  ?  " 

"  I  have  stayed  the  march  of  a  king  himself,  ere  now,"  replied 
the  gray  figure,  with  stern  composure.  "  I  am  here,  Sir  Governor, 
because  the  cry  of  an  oppressed  people  hath  disturbed  me  in  my 
secret  place ;  and  beseeching  this,  favor  earnestly  of  the  Lord,  it 
was  vouchsafed  me  to  appear  once  again  on  earth,  in  the  good  old 
cause  of  his  saints.  And  what  speak  ye  of  James  ?  There  is  no 
longer  a  Popish  tyrant  on  the  throne  of  England,  and  by  to-morrow 
noon  his  name  shall  be  a  byword  in  this  very  street,  where  ye  would 
make  it  a  word  of  terror.  Back,  thou  that  wast  a  Governor,  back ! 
With  this  night  thy  power  is  ended,  —  to-morrow,  the  prison  !  — 
back,  lest  I  foretell  the  scaffold  !  " 

The  people  had  been  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  and  drinking 
in  the  words  of  their  champion,  who  spoke  in  accents  long  dis 
used,  like  one  unaccustomed  to  converse,  except  with  the  dead  of 
many  years  ago.  But  his  voice  stirred  their  souls.  They  confronted 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  359 

the  soldiers,  not  wholly  without  arms,  and  ready  to  convert  the 
very  stones  of  the  street  into  deadly  weapons.  Sir  Edmund  Andros 
looked  at  the  old  man ;  then  he  cast  his  hard  and  cruel  eye  over 
the  multitude,  and  beheld  them  burning  with  that  lurid  wrath,  so 
difficult  to  kindle  or  to  quench ;  and  again  he  fixed  his  gaze  on 
the  aged  form,  which  stood  obscurely  in  an  open  space,  where 
neither  friend  nor  foe  had  thrust  himself.  What  were  his  thoughts, 
he  uttered  no  word  which  might  discover.  But  whether  the  op 
pressor  were  overawed  by  the  Gray  Champion's  look,  or  perceived 
his  peril  in  the  threatening  attitude  of  the  people,  it  is  certain  that 
he  gave  back,  and  ordered  his  soldiers  to  commence  a  slow  and 
guarded  retreat.  Before  another  sunset,  the  Governor,  and  all  that 
rode  so  proudly  with  him,  were  prisoners,  and  long  ere  it  was 
known  that  James  had  abdicated,  King  William  was  proclaimed 
throughout  New  England. 

But  where  was  the  Gray  Champion  ?  Some  reported  that,  when 
the  troops  had  gone  from  King  Street,  and  the  people  were  throng 
ing  tumultuously  in  their  rear,  Bradstreet,  the*  aged  Governor,  was 
seen  to  embrace  a  form  more  aged  than  his  own.  Others  soberly 
affirmed,  that  while  they  marvelled  at  the  venerable  grandeur  of 
his  aspect,  the  old  man  had  faded  from  their  eyes,  melting  slowly 
into  the  hues  of  twilight,  till,  where  he  stood,  there  was  an  empty 
space.  But  all  agreed  that  the  hoary  shape  was  gone.  The  men 
of  that  generation  watched  for  his  reappearance,  in  sunshine  and 
in  twilight,  but  never  saw  him  more,  nor  knew  when  his  funeral 
passed,  nor  where  his  gravestone  was. 

And  who  was  the  Gray  Champion  ?  Perhaps  his  name  might  be 
found  in  the  records  of  that  stern  Court  of  Justice,  which  passed 
a  sentence,  too  mighty  for  the  age,  but  glorious  in  all  after-times, 
for  its  humbling  lesson  to  the  monarch  and  its  high  example  to 
the  subject.  I  have  heard,  that  whenever  the  descendants  of  the 
Puritans  are  to  show  the  spirit  of  their  sires,  the  old  man  appears 
again.  When  eighty  years  had  passed,  he  walked  once  more  in 
King  Street.  Five  years  later,  in  the  twilight  of  an  April  morning, 
he  stood  on  the  green,  beside  the  meeting-house,  at  Lexington, 
where  now  the  obelisk  of  granite,  with  a  slab  of  slate  inlaid,  com 
memorates  the  first  fallen  of  the  Revolution.  And  when  our  fathers 


360        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

were  toiling  at  the  breastwork  on  Bunker's  Hill,  all  through  that 
night  the  old  warrior  walked  his  rounds.  Long,  long  may  it  be, 
ere  he  comes  again !  His  hour  is  one  of  darkness,  and  adversity, 
and  peril.  But  should  domestic  tyranny  oppress  us,  or  the  in 
vader's  step  pollute  our  soil,  still  may  the  Gray  Champion  come, 
for  he  is  the  type  of  New  England's  hereditary  spirit ;  and  his 
shadowy  march,  on  the  eve  of  danger,  must  ever  be  the  pledge, 
that  New  England's  sons  will  vindicate  their  ancestry. 


A  RILL  FROM  THE  TOWN-PUMP 
FROM  " TWICE-TOLD  TALES" 

[SCENE,  the  corner  of  two  principal  streets,  the  TOWN-PUMP  talking  through 

its  nose] 

Noon  by  the  north  clock  !  Noon  by  the  east !  High  noon,  too, 
by  these  hot  sunbeams,  which  fall,  scarcely  aslope,  upon  my  head 
and  almost  make  the  water  bubble  and  smoke  in  the  trough  under 
my  nose.  Truly,  we  public  characters  have  a  tough  time  of  it ! 
And  among  all  the  town-officers  chosen  at  March  meeting,  where 
is  he  that  sustains  for  a  single  year  the  burden  of  such  manifold 
duties  as  are  imposed  in  perpetuity  upon  the  town-pump  ?  The 
title  of  "town-treasurer"  is  rightfully  mine,  as  guardian  of  the 
best  treasure  that  the  town  has.  The  overseers  of  the  poor  ought 
to  make  me  their  chairman,  since  I  provide  bountifully  for  the 
pauper  without  expense  to  him  that  pays  taxes.  I  am  at  the  head 
of  the  fire  department  and  one  of  the  physicians  to  the  board  of 
health.  As  a  keeper  of  the  peace  all  water-drinkers  will  confess 
me  equal  to  the  constable.  I  perform  some  of  the  duties  of  the 
town-clerk  by  promulgating  public  notices  when  they  are  posted 
on  my  front.  To  speak  within  bounds,  I  am  the  chief  person  of 
the  municipality,  and  exhibit,  moreover,  an  admirable  pattern  to 
my  brother-officers  by  the  cool,  steady,  upright,  downright  and 
impartial  discharge  of  my  business  and  the  constancy  with  which 
I  stand  to  my  post.  Summer  or  winter,  nobody  seeks  me  in  vain, 
for  all  day  long  I  am  seen  at  the  busiest  corner,  just  above  the 
market,  stretching  out  my  arms  to  rich  and  poor  alike,  and  at 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  361 

night  I  hold  a  lantern  over  my  head  both  to  show  where  I  am 
and  keep  people  out  of  the  gutters.  At  this  sultry  noontide  I 
am  cupbearer  to  the  parched  populace,  for  whose  benefit  an  iron 
goblet  is  chained  to  my  waist.  Like  a  dramseller  on  the  mall  at 
muster-day,  I  cry  aloud  to  all  and  sundry  in  my  plainest  accents 
and  at  the  very  tiptop  of  my  voice. 

Here  it  is,  gentlemen !  Here  is  the  good  liquor !  Walk  up, 
walk  up,  gentlemen !  Walk  up,  walk  up !  Here  is  the  superior 
stuff !  Here  is  the  unadulterated  ale  of  Father  Adam  —  better 
than  Cognac,  Hollands,  Jamaica,  strong  beer  or  wine  of  any  price ; 
here  it  is  by  the  hogshead  or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a  cent  to 
pay  !  Walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  and  help  yourselves  ! 

It  were  a  pity  if  all  this  outcry  should  draw  no  customers.  Here 
they  come.  A  hot  day,  gentlemen !  Quaff  and  away  again,  so  as 
to  keep  yourselves  in  a  nice  cool  sweat.  You,  my  friend,  will  need 
another  cupful  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  your  throat,  if  it  be  as  thick 
there  as  it  is  on  your  cowhide  shoes.  I  see  that  you  have  trudged 
half  a  score  of  miles  to-day,  and  like  a  wise  man  have  passed  by 
the  taverns  and  stopped  at  the  running  brooks  and  well-curbs. 
Otherwise,  betwixt  heat  without  and  fire  within,  you  would  have 
been  burned  to  a  cinder  or  melted  down  to  nothing  at  all,  in  the 
fashion  of  a  jelly-fish.  Drink  and  make  room  for  that  other  fellow, 
who  seeks  my  aid  to  quench  the  fiery  fever  of  last  night's  pota 
tions,  which  he  drained  from  no  cup  of  mine.  Welcome,  most 
rubicund  sir !  You  and  I  have  been  great  strangers,  hitherto ; 
nor,  to  confess  the  truth,  will  my  nose  be  anxious  for  a  closer 
intimacy,  till  the  fumes  of  your  breath  be  a  little  less  potent. 
Mercy  on  you,  man  !  the  water  absolutely  hisses  down  your  red- 
hot  gullet,  and  is  converted  quite  to  steam,  in  the  miniature  tophet, 
which  you  mistake  for  a  stomach.  Fill  again,  and  tell  me,  on  the 
word  of  an  honest  toper,  did  you  ever,  in  cellar,  tavern,  or  any 
kind  of  a  dram-shop,  spend  the  price  of  your  children's  food  for 
a  swig  half  so  delicious  ?  Now,  for  the  first  time  these  ten  years, 
you  know  the  flavor  of  cold  water.  Good  by ;  and,  whenever  you 
are  thirsty,  remember  that  I  keep  a  constant  supply,  at  the  old 
stand.  Who  next  ?  O,  my  little  friend,  you  are  let  loose  from 
school,  and  come  hither  to  scrub  your  blooming  face,  and  drown 


362        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  memory  of  certain  taps  of  the  ferule,  and  other  school-boy 
troubles,  in  a  draught  from  the  Town  Pump.  Take  it,  pure  as 
the  current  of  your  young  life.  Take  it,  and  may  your  heart  and 
tongue  never  be  scorched  with  a  fiercer  thirst  than  now !  There, 
my  dear  child,  put  down  the  cup,  and  yield  your  place  to  this 
elderly  gentleman,  who  treads  so  tenderly  over  the  paving-stones, 
that  I  suspect  he  is  afraid  of  breaking  them.  What !  he  limps  by, 
without  so  much  as  thanking  me,  as  if  my  hospitable  offers  were 
meant  only  for  people  who  have  no  wine-cellars.  Well,  well,  sir, 
—  no  harm  done,  I  hope !  Go  draw  the  cork,  tip  the  decanter ; 
but,  when  your  great  toe  shall  set  you  a-roaring,  it  will  be  no  affair 
of  mine.  If  gentlemen  love  the  pleasant  titillation  of  the  gout,  it 
is  all  one  to  the  Town  Pump.  This  thirsty  dog,  with  his  red 
tongue  lolling  out,  does  not  scorn  my  hospitality,  but  stands  on 
his  hind  legs,  and  laps  eagerly  out  of  the  trough.  See  how 
lightly  he  capers  away  again !  Jowler,  did  your  worship  ever 
have  the  gout  ? 

Are  you  all  satisfied  ?  Then  wipe  your  mouths,  my  good  friends  ; 
and,  while  my  spout  has  a  moment's  leisure,  I  will  delight  the 
town  with  a  few  historical  reminiscences.  In  far  antiquity,  beneath 
a  darksome  shadow  of  venerable  boughs,  a  spring  bubbled  out  of 
the  leaf-strewn  earth  in  the  very  spot  where  you  now  behold  me 
on  the  sunny  pavement.  The  water  was  as  bright  and  clear  and 
deemed  as  precious  as  liquid  diamonds.  The  Indian  sagamores 
drank  of  it  from  time  immemorial  till  the  fatal  deluge  of  the  fire 
water  burst  upon  the  red  men  and  swept  their  whole  race  away 
from  the  cold  fountains.  Endicott  and  his  followers  came  next, 
and  often  knelt  down  to  drink,  dipping  their  long  beards  in  the 
spring.  The  richest  goblet  then  was  of  birch-bark.  Governor 
Winthrop,  after  a  journey  afoot  from  Boston,  drank  here  out  of 
the  hollow  of  his  hand.  The  elder  Higginson  here  wet  his  palm, 
and  laid  it  on  the  brow  of  the  first  town-born  child.  For  many 
years  it  was  the  watering-place,  and,  as  it  were,  the  wash-bowl  of 
the  vicinity,  —  whither  all  decent  folks  resorted,  to  purify  their 
visages,  and  gaze  at  them  afterwards  —  at  least,  the  pretty  maidens 
did  —  in  the  mirror  which  it  made.  On  Sabbath  days,  whenever 
a  babe  was  to  be  baptized,  the  sexton  filled  his  basin  here,  and 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  363 

placed  it  on  the  communion-table  of  the  humble  meeting-house, 
which  partly  covered  the  site  of  yonder  stately  brick  one.  Thus, 
one  generation  after  another  was  consecrated  to  Heaven  by  its 
waters,  and  cast  their  waxing  and  waning  shadows  into  its  glassy 
bosom,  and  vanished  from  the  earth,  as  if  mortal  life  were  but  a 
flitting  image  in  a  fountain.  Finally,  the  fountain  vanished  also. 
Cellars  were  dug  on  all  sides  and  cart-loads  of  gravel  flung  upon 
its  source,  whence  oozed  a  turbid  stream,  forming  a  mud-puddle 
at  the  corner  of  two  streets.  In  the  hot  months,  when  its  refresh 
ment  was  most  needed,  the  dust  flew  in  clouds  over  the  forgotten 
birthplace  of  the  waters,  now  their  grave.  But  in  the  course  of 
time  a  town-pump  was  sunk  into  the  source  of  the  ancient  spring ; 
and  when  the  first  decayed,  another  took  its  place,  and  then 
another,  and  still  another,  —  till  here  stand  I,  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  to  serve  you  with  my  iron  goblet.  Drink,  and  be  refreshed  ! 
The  water  is  as  pure  and  cold  as  that  which  slaked  the  thirst  of 
the  red  sagamore,  beneath  the  aged  boughs,  though  now  the  gem 
of  the  wilderness  is  treasured  under  these  hot  stones,  where  no 
shadow  falls,  but  from  the  brick  buildings.  And  be  it  the  moral 
of  my  story,  that,  as  this  wasted  and  long-lost  fountain  is  now 
known  and  prized  again,  so  shall  the  virtues  of  cold  water,  too 
little  valued  since  your  father's  days  —  be  recognized  by  all. 

Your  pardon,  good  people !  I  must  interrupt  my  stream  of  elo 
quence  and  spout  forth  a  stream  of  water  to  replenish  the  trough 
for  this  teamster  and  his  two  yoke  of  oxen,  who  have  come  from 
Topsfield,  or  somewhere  along  that  way.  No  part  of  my  business 
is  pleasanter  than  the  watering  of  cattle.  Look  !  how  rapidly  they 
lower  the  watermark  on  the  sides  of  the  trough,  till  their  capacious 
stomachs  are  moistened  with  a  gallon  or  two  apiece  and  they  can 
afford  time  to  breathe  it  in  with  sighs  of  calm  enjoyment.  Now 
they  roll  their  quiet  eyes  around  the  brim  of  their  monstrous 
drinking-vessel.  An  ox  is  your  true  toper. 

But  I  perceive,  my  dear  auditors,  that  you  are  impatient  for  the 
remainder  of  my  discourse.  Impute  it,  I  beseech  you,  to  no  defect 
of  modesty  if  I  insist  a  little  longer  on  so  fruitful  a  topic  as  my 
own  multifarious  merits.  It  is  altogether  for  your  good.  The 
better  you  think  of  me,  the  better  men  and  women  you  will  find 


364        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

yourselves.  I  shall  say  nothing  of  my  all-important  aid  on  washing- 
days,  though  on  that  account  alone  I  might  call  myself  the  house 
hold  god  of  a  hundred  families.  Far  be  it  from  me  also  to  hint, 
my  respectable  friends,  at  the  show  of  dirty  faces  which  you  would 
present,  without  my  pains  to  keep  you  clean.  Nor  will  I  remind 
you  how  often  when  the  midnight  bells  make  you  tremble  for  your 
combustible  town,  you  have  fled  to  the  Town  Pump,  and  found 
me  always  at  my  post,  firm  amid  the  confusion,  and  ready  to  drain 
my  vital  current  in  your  behalf.  Neither  is  it  worth  while  to  lay 
much  stress  on  my  claims  to  a  medical  diploma,  as  the  physician, 
whose  simple  rule  of  practice  is  preferable  to  all  the  nauseous  lore, 
which  has  found  men  sick  or  left  them  so,  since  the  days  of  Hip 
pocrates.  Let  us  take  a  broader  view  of  my  beneficial  influence 
on  mankind. 

No  ;  these  are  trifles,  compared  with  the  merits  which  wise  men 
concede  to  me,  —  if  not  in  my  single  self,  yet  as  the  representa 
tive  of  a  class  —  of  being  the  grand  reformer  of  the  age.  From 
my  spout,  and  such  spouts  as  mine,  must  flow  the  stream  that  shall 
cleanse  our  earth  of  the  vast  portion  of  its  crime  and  anguish,  which 
has  gushed  from  the  fiery  fountains  of  the  still.  In  this  mighty 
enterprise,  the  cow  shall  be  my  great  confederate.  Milk  and  water  ! 
The  TOWN  PUMP  and  the  Cow  !  Such  is  the  glorious  copartner 
ship,  that  shall  tear  down  the  distilleries  and  brewhouses,  uproot 
the  vineyards,  shatter  the  cider-presses,  ruin  the  tea  and  coffee 
trade,  and  finally  monopolize  the  whole  business  of  quenching  thirst. 
Blessed  consummation  !  Then  Poverty  shall  pass  away  from  the 
land,  finding  no  hovel  so  wretched,  where  her  squalid  form  may- 
shelter  herself.  Then  disease,  for  lack  of  other  victims,  shall  gnaw 
its  own  heart  and  die.  Then  sin,  if  she  do  not  die,  shall  lose  half 
her  strength.  Until  now  the  frenzy  of  hereditary  fever  has  raged 
in  the  human  blood,  transmitted  from  sire  to  son  and  rekindled  in 
every  generation  by  fresh  draughts  of  liquid  flame.  When  that 
inward  fire  shall  be  extinguished,  the  heat  of  passion  cannot  but 
grow  cool,  and  war  —  the  drunkenness  of  nations  —  perhaps  will 
cease.  At  least,  there  will  be  no  war  of  households.  The  husband 
and  wife,  drinking  deep  of  peaceful  joy  —  a  calm  Hiss  of  temperate 
affections  shall  pass  hand  in  hand  through  life  and  lie  down  not 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  365 

reluctantly  at  its  protracted  close.  To  them  the  past  will  be  no  tur 
moil  of  mad  dreams,  nor  the  future  an  eternity  of  such  moments 
as  follow  the  delirium  of  the  drunkard.  Their  dead  faces  shall 
express  what  their  spirits  were  and  are  to  be  by  a  lingering  smile 
of  memory  and  hope. 

Ahem  !  Dry  work,  this  speechifying,  especially  to  an  unprac- 
ticed  orator.  I  never  conceived  till  now  what  toil  the  temperance 
lecturers  undergo  for  my  sake ;  hereafter  they  shall  have  the  busi 
ness  to  themselves.  Do,  some  kind  Christian,  pump  a  stroke  or 
two,  just  to  wet  my  whistle.  Thank  you,  sir  !  My  dear  hearers, 
when  the  world  shall  have  been  regenerated  by  my  instrumentality, 
you  will  collect  your  useless  vats  and  liquor-casks  into  one  great 
pile  and  make  a  bonfire  in  honor  of  the  town-pump.  And  when 
I  shall  have  decayed  like  my  predecessors,  then,  if  you  revere  my 
memory,  let  a  marble  fountain  richly  sculptured  take  my  place  upon 
the  spot.  Such  monuments  should  be  erected  everywhere  and 
inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  distinguished  champions  of  my 
cause.  Now,  listen,  for  something  very  important  is  to  come  next. 

There  are  two  or  three  honest  friends  of  mine  —  and  true  friends, 
I  know,  they  are  —  who,  nevertheless,  by  their  fiery  pugnacity  in 
my  behalf,  do  put  me  in  fearful  hazard  of  a  broken  nose  or  even 
a  total  overthrow  upon  the  pavement,  and  the  loss  of  the  treasure 
which  I  guard.  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  let  this  fault  be  amended. 
Is  it  decent,  think  you,  to  get  tipsy  with  zeal  for  temperance,  and 
take  up  the  honorable  cause  of  the  Town  Pump  in  the  style  of  a 
toper,  fighting  for  his  brandy-bottle  ?  Or,  can  the  excellent  quali 
ties  of  cold  water  be  not  otherwise  exemplified,  than  by  plunging 
slapdash  into  hot  water,  and  wofully  scalding  yourselves  and  other 
people  ?  Trust  me,  they  may.  In  the  moral  warfare  which  you  are 
to  wage,  —  and,  indeed,  in  the  whole  conduct  of  your  lives,  —  you 
cannot  choose  a  better  example  than  myself,  who  have  never  per 
mitted  the  dust  and  sultry  atmosphere,  the  turbulence  and  mani 
fold  disquietudes  of  the  world  around  me,  to  reach  that  deep,  calm 
well  of  purity,  which  may  be  called  my  soul.  And  whenever  I  pour 
out  that  soul,  it  is  to  cool  earth's  fever,  or  cleanse  its  stains. 

One  o'clock !  Nay,  then,  if  the  dinner-bell  begins  to  speak, 
I  may  as  well  hold  my  peace.  Here  comes  a  pretty  young  girl  of 


366        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

my  acquaintance,  with  a  large  stone  pitcher  for  me  to  fill.  May  she 
draw  a  husband,  while  drawing  her  water,  as  Rachel  did  of  old. 
Hold  out  your  vessel,  my  dear !  There  it  is,  full  to  the  brim ;  so 
now  run  home,  peeping  at  your  sweet  image  in  the  pitcher,  as  you 
go ;  and  forget  not,  in  a  glass  of  my  own  liquor,  to  drink  — 
11  SUCCESS  TO  THE  TOWN  PUMP  !  " 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW 

[Born  at  Portland,  Maine,  February  27,  1807  ;  died  at  Cambridge, 
Massachusetts,  March  24,  1882]  . 

A  PSALM  OF  LIFE 
WHAT  THE  HEART  OF  THE  YOUNG  MAN  SAID  TO  THE  PSALMIST 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  !  — 

For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real !  Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Find  us  farther  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle ! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  367 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead ! 
Act,  —  act  in  the  living  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead  ! 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 

Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time ; 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 

Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 

Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 

With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 

Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  STARS 

The  night  is  come,  but  not  too  soon ; 

And  sinking  silently, 
All  silently,  the  little  moon 

Drops  down  behind  the  sky. 

There  is  no  light  in  earth  or  heaven 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars  ; 

And  the  first  watch  of  night  is  given 
To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

Is  it  the  tender  star  of  love  ? 

The  star  of  love  and  dreams  ? 
O  no  !  from  that  blue  tent  above, 

A  hero's  armor  gleams. 


368         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  earnest  thoughts  within  me  rise, 

When  I  behold  afar, 
Suspended  in  the  evening  skies, 

The  shield  of  that  red  star. 

0  star  of  strength  !  I  see  thee  stand 
And  smile  upon  my  pain  ; 

Thou  beckonest  with  thy  mailed  hand, 
And  I  am  strong  again.' 

Within  my  breast  there  is  no  light 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars ; 

1  give  the  first  watch  of  the  night ' 

To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

The  star  of  the  unconquered  will, 

He  rises  in  my  breast, 
Serene,  and  resolute,  and  still, 

And  calm,  and  self-possessed. 

And  thou,  too,  whosoe'er  thou  art, 
That  readest  this  brief  psalm, 

As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart, 
Be  resolute  and  calm. 

Oh,  fear  not  in  a  world  like  this, 
And  thou  shalt  know  erelong, 

Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 
To  suffer  and  be  strong. 


FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS 

When  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered, 
And  the  voices  of  the  Night 

Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  369 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 

And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 
Shadows  from  the  fitful  firelight 

Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall ; 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door  ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more ; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 

Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 

Weary  with  the  march  of  life ! 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 

Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore, 
Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 

Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more ! 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 

Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 
More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 

And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 

Comes  that  messenger  divine, 
Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 

Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 
Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 

Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 

Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 
Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 

Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 


3/0        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Oh,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 
All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 

If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died  1 


HYMN  TO  THE  NIGHT 

I  heard  the  trailing  garments  of  the  Night 

Sweep  through  her  marble  halls  ! 
I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with  light 

From  the  celestial  walls  ! 

I  felt  her  presence,  by  its  spell  of  might, 

Stoop  o'er  me  from  above  ; 
The  calm,  majestic  presence  of  the  Night, 

As  of  the  one  I  love. 

I  heard  the  sounds  of  sorrow  and  delight, 

The  manifold,  soft  chimes, 
That  fill  the  haunted  chambers  of  the  Night, 

Like  some  old  poet's  rhymes. 

From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air 

My  spirit  drank  repose  ; 
The  fountain  of  perpetual  peace  flows  there,  — 

From  those  deep  cisterns  flows. 

O  holy  Night !  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 

What  man  has  borne  before  ! 
Thou  layest  thy  finger  on  the  lips  of  Care, 

And  they  complain  no  more. 

Peace  !    Peace  !    Orestes-like  I  breathe  this  prayer 

Descend  with  broad-winged  flight, 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-prayed  for,  the  most  fair, 

The  best-beloved  Night ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  3/1 

THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR 

"  Speak  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest ! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 
Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 
But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 

Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  ?  " 

Then  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise, 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 

Gleam  in  December ; 
And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 

From  the  heart's  chamber. 

"  I  was  a  Viking  old  ! 

My  deeds,  though  manifold, 

No  Skald  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

"  Far  in  the  Northern  Land,  - 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, .  : 
I,  with  my  childish  hand, 

Tamed  the  gerfalcon ; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast  bound, 
Skimmed  the  half-frozen  Sound, 
That  the  .poor  whimpering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 


3/2         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 
While  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow  ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  were-wolf  's  bark, 
Until  the  soaring  lark 

Sang  from  the  meadow. 

"  But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew, 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 

With  the  marauders. 
Wild  was  the  life  we  led ; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled, 

By  our  stern  orders. 

"  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  Winter  out ; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 

Set  the  cocks  crowing, 
As  we  the  Berserk's  tale 
Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  the  oaken  pail, 

Filled  to  o'erflowing. 

"  Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

Burning  yet  tender ; 
.  And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  splendor. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  373 

"  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid, 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid, 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast,     ¥/ 
Like  birds  within  their  nest 

By  the  hawk  frighted. 

"  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall, 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all, 

Chanting  his  glory ; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand, 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

"  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed, 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed, 
And  as  the  wind  gusts  waft 

The  sea  foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking  horn 

Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

"  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 

I  but  a  Viking  wild, 

And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded ! 
Should  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea  mew's  flight  ? 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded  ? 


374         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me,  — 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen  !  — 
When  on  the  white  sea  strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand, 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 

With  twenty  horsemen. 

"  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast, 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast, 

When  the  wind  failed  us  ; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw, 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 


"  And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
'  Death  ! '  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

'  Death  without  quarter  ! ' 
Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water ! 

"  As  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt, 

With  his  prey  laden,  — 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 

Bore  I  the  maiden. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  375 

"  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the- lofty  tower, 
Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Stands  looking  seaward. 

"  There  lived  we  many  years  ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears ; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears, 

She  was  a  mother  ; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes ; 
Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 

On  such  another. 

"  Still  grew  my  bosom  then, 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen  ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful ! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

Oh,  death  was  grateful ! 

"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars, 
Bursting  these  prison  bars, 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Skoal!  to  the  Northland!  skoal!" 

Thus  the  tale  ended. 


376'        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  RAINY  DAY 

The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  Past, 
And  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart !  and  cease  repining  ; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all, 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 


ENDYMION 

The  rising  moon  has  hid  the  stars ; 

Her  level  rays,  like  golden  bars, 
Lie  on  the  landscape  green, 
With  shadows  brown  between. 

And  silver  white  the  river  gleams, 
As  if  Diana,  in  her  dreams, 
Had  dropt  her  silver  bow 
Upon  the  meadows  low. 

On  such  a  tranquil  night  as  this, 
She  woke  Endymion  with  a  kiss, 
When,  sleeping  in  the  grove, 
He  dreamed  not  of  her  love. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  377 

Like  Dian's  kiss,  unasked,  unsought, 
Love  gives  itself,  but  is  not  bought ; 

Nor  voice,  nor  sound  betrays 

Its  deep,  impassioned  gaze. 

It  comes,  —  the  beautiful,  the  free, 
The  crown  of  all  humanity,  — 

In  silence  and  alone 

To  seek  the  elected  one. 

It  lifts  the  boughs,  whose  shadows  deep 
Are  Life's  oblivion,  the  soul's  sleep, 

And  kisses  the  closed  eyes 

Of  him  who  slumbering  lies. 

O  weary  hearts  !  O  slumbering  eyes  ! 
O  drooping  souls,  whose  destinies 

Are  fraught  with  fear  and  pain, 

Ye  shall  be  loved  again  ! 

No  one  is  so  accursed  by  fate, 
No  one  so  utterly  desolate, 

But  some  heart,  though  unknown, 

Responds  unto  its  own. 

Responds,  —  as  if  with  unseen  wings 

An  angel  touched  its  quivering  strings  ; 
And  whispers,  in  its  song, 
"  Where  hast  thou  stayed  so  long  ?  " 

MAIDENHOOD 

Maiden  !  with  the  meek,  brown  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies 
Like  the  dusk  in  evening  skies  ! 

Thou  whose  locks  outshine  the  sun, 
Golden  tresses,  wreathed  in  one, 
As  the  braided  streamlets  run  ! 


378        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Standing,  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ! 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance, 
On  the -brooklet's  swift  advance, 
On  the  river's  broad  expanse ! 

Deep  and  still,  that  gliding  stream 
Beautiful  to  thee  must  seem, 
As  the  river  of  a  dream. 

Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
When  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to  fields  Elysian  ? 

Seest  thou  shadows  sailing  by, 
As  the  dove,  with  startled  eye, 
Sees  the  falcon's  shadow  fly  ? 

Hearest  thou  voices  on  the  shore, 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more, 
Deafened  by  the  cataract's  roar  ? 

Oh,  thou  child  of  many  prayers  ! 

Life  hath  quicksands,  —  Life  hath  snares  ! 

Care  and  age  come  unawares  ! 

Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Morning  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 

Childhood  is  the  bough,  where  slumbered 
Birds  and  blossoms  many-numbered  ;  — 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumbered. 

Gather,  then,  each  flower  that  grows, 
When  the  young  heart  overflows, 
To  embalm  that  tent  of  snows. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  379 

Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand ; 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

Bear  through  sorrow,  wrong,  and  ruth, 
In  thy  heart  the  dew  of  youth, 
On  thy  lips  the  smile  of  truth. 

Oh,  that  dew,  like  balm,  shall  steal 
Into  wounds  that  cannot  heal, 
Even  as  sleep  our  eyes  doth  seal ; 

And  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  dart 
Into  many  a  sunless  heart, 
For  a  smile  of  God  thou  art. 


SERENADE  FROM  "THE   SPANISH   STUDENT 

Stars  of  the  summer  night ! 

Far  in  yon  azure  deeps, 
Hide,  hide  your  golden  light ! 

She  sleeps ! 
My  lady  sleeps ! 
Sleeps ! 

Moon  of  the  summer  night ! 

Far  down  yon  western  steeps, 
Sink,  sink  in  silver  light  1 

She  sleeps ! 
My  lady  sleeps ! 
Sleeps ! 

Wind  of  the  summer  night ! 

Where  yonder  woodbine  creeps, 
Fold,  fold  thy  pinions  light ! 

She  sleeps ! 
My  lady  sleeps ! 
Sleeps ! 


380        READINGS. FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Dreams  of  the  summer  night ! 

Tell  her,  her  lover  keeps 
Watch !  while  in  slumbers  light 

She  sleeps ! 
My  lady  sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

SLEEP 

Lull  me  to  sleep,  ye  winds,  whose  fitful  sound 

Seems  from  some  faint  ^Eolian  harp-string  caught ; 
Seal  up  the  hundred  wakeful  eyes  of  thought 
As  Hermes  with  his  lyre  in  sleep  profound 

The  hundred  wakeful  eyes  of  Argus  bound ; 
For  I  am  weary,  and  am  overwrought 
With  too  much  toil,  with  too  much  care  distraught, 
And  with  the  iron  crown  of  anguish  crowned. 

Lay  thy  soft  hand  upon  my  brow  and  cheek, 

0  peaceful  Sleep  !  until  from  pain  released 

1  breathe  again  uninterrupted  breath  ! 
Ah,  with  what  subtle  meaning  did  the  Greek 

Call  thee  the  lesser  mystery  at  the  feast 
Whereof  the  greater  mystery  is  death  ! 


THE  POET'S  TALE 
FROM  "  TALES  OF  A  WAYSIDE  INN  " 
THE  BIRDS  OF  KILLINGWORTH 

It  was  the  season  when  through  all  the  land 
The  merle  and  mavis  build,  and  building  sing 

Those  lovely  lyrics,  written  by  His  hand, 

Whom  Saxon  Caedmon  calls  the  Blithe-heart  King ; 

When  on  the  boughs  the  purple  buds  expand, 
The  banners  of  the  vanguard  of  the  Spring, 

And  rivulets,  rejoicing,  rush  and  leap, 

And  wave  their  fluttering  signals  from  the  steep. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  381 

The  robin  and  the  bluebird,  piping  loud, 

Filled  all  the  blossoming  orchards  with  their  glee ; 

The  sparrows  chirped  as  if  they  still  were  proud 
Their  race  in  Holy  Writ  should  mentioned  be ; 

And  hungry  crows,  assembled  in  a  crowd, 
Clamored  their  piteous  prayer  incessantly, 

Knowing  who  hears  the  raven's  cry,  and  said  : 

"  Give  us,  O  Lord,  this  day,  our  daily  bread  !  " 

Across  the  Sound  the  birds  of  passage  sailed, 

Speaking  some  unknown  language  strange  and  sweet 

Of  tropic  isle  remote,  and  passing  hailed 

The  village  with  the  cheers  of  all  their  fleet ; 

Or  quarrelling  together,  laughed  and  railed 
Like  foreign  sailors,  landed  in  the  street 

Of  seaport  town,  and  with  outlandish  noise 

Of  oaths  and  gibberish  frightening  girls  and  boys. 

Thus  came  the  jocund  Spring  in  Killingworth, 
In  fabulous  days,  some  hundred  years  ago ; 

And  thrifty  farmers,  as  they  tilled  the  earth, 
Heard  with  alarm  the  cawing  of  the  crow, 

That  mingled  with  the  universal  mirth, 
Cassandra-like,  prognosticating  woe ; 

They  shook  their  heads,  and  doomed  with  dreadful  words 

To  swift  destruction  the  whole  race  of  birds. 

And  a  town-meeting  was  convened  straightway 

To  set  a  price  upon  the  guilty  heads 
Of  these  marauders,  who,  in  lieu  of  pay, 

Levied  black-mail  upon  the  garden-beds 
And  cornfields,  and  beheld  without  dismay 

The  awful  scarecrow,  with  his  fluttering  shreds ; 
The  skeleton  that  waited  at  their  feast, 
Whereby  their  sinful  pleasure  was  increased. 


382        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Then  from  his  house,  a  temple  painted  white, 
With  fluted  columns,  and  a  roof  of  red, 

The  Squire  came  forth,  august  and  splendid  sight ! 
Slowly  descending,  with  majestic  tread, 

Three  flights  of  steps,  nor  looking  left  nor  right, 
Down  the  long  street  he  walked,  as  one  who  said, 

"  A  town  that  boasts  inhabitants  like  me 

Can  have  no  lack  of  good  society !  " 

The  Parson,  too,  appeared,  a  man  austere, 
The  instinct  of  whose  nature  was  to  kill ; 

The  wrath  of  God  he  preached  from  year  to  year, 
And  read  with  fervor,  Edwards  on  the  Will ; 

His  favorite  pastime  was  to  slay  the  deer 
In  summer  on  some  Adirondac  hill ; 

E'en  now,  while  walking  down  the  rural  lane, 

He  lopped  the  wayside  lilies  with  his  cane. 

From  the  Academy,  whose  belfry  crowned 
The  hill  of  Science  with  its  vane  of  brass, 

Came  the  Preceptor,  gazing  idly  round, 

Now  at  the  clouds,  and  now  at  the  green  grass, 

And  all  absorbed  in  reveries  profound 
Of  fair  Almira  in  the  upper  class, 

Who  was,  as  in  a  sonnet  he  had  said, 

As  pure  as  water,  and  as  good  as  bread. 

And  next  the  Deacon  issued  from  his  door, 
In  his  voluminous  neck-cloth,  white  as  snow ; 

A  suit  of  sable  bombazine  he  wore ; 

His  form  was  ponderous,  and  his  step  was  slow ; 

There  never  was  so  wise  a  man  before ; 

He  seemed  the  incarnate  "  Well,  I  told  you  so  !  " 

And  to  perpetuate  his  great  renown 

There  was  a  street  named  after  him  in  town. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  3^3 

These  came  together  in  the  new  town-hall, 
With  sundry  farmers  from  the  region  round. 

The  Squire  presided,  dignified  and  tall, 

His  air  impressive  and  his  reasoning  sound. 

Ill  fared  it  with  the  birds,  both  great  and  small ; 
Hardly  a  friend  in  all  that  crowd  they  found, 

But  enemies  enough,  who  every  one 

Charged  them  with  all  the  crimes  beneath  the  sun. 

When  they  had  ended,  from  his  place  apart 
Rose  the  Preceptor,  to  redress  the  wrong, 

And,  trembling  like  a  steed  before  the  start, 

Looked  round  bewildered  on  the  expectant  throng ; 

Then  thought  of  fair  Almira,  and  took  heart 

To  speak  out  what  was  in  him,  clear  and  strong, 

Alike  regardless  of  their  smile  or  frown, 

And  quite  determined  not  to  be  laughed  down  : 

"  Plato,  anticipating  the  Reviewers, 

From  his  Republic  banished  without  pity 
The  Poets.  In  this  little  town  of  yours, 

You  put  to  death,  by  means  of  a  Committee, 
The  ballad-singers  and  the  troubadours, 

The  street-musicians  of  the  heavenly  city, 
The  birds,  who  make  sweet  music  for  us  all 
In  our  dark  hours,  as  David  did  for  Saul. 


"  The  thrush  that  carols  at  the  dawn  of  day 
From  the  green  steeples  of  the  piny  wood ; 

The  oriole  in  the  elm  ;  the  noisy  jay, 
Jargoning  like  a  foreigner  at  his  food  ; 

The  bluebird  balanced  on  some  topmost  spray, 
Flooding  with  melody  the  neighborhood  ; 

Linnet  and  meadow-lark,  and  all  the  throng 

That  dwell  in  nests,  and  have  the  gift  of  song ; 


READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  You  slay  them  all !    And  wherefore  ?    For  the  gain 
Of  a  scant  handful  more  or  less  of  wheat, 

Or  rye,  or  barley,  or  some  other  grain, 

Scratched  up  at  random  by  industrious  feet, 

Searching  for  worm  or,  weevil  after  rain  ! 
Or  a  few  cherries,  that  are  not  so  sweet 

As  are  the  songs  the  uninvited  guests 

Sing  at  their  feast  with  comfortable  breasts. 

"  Do  you  ne'er  think  what  wondrous  beings  these  ? 

Do  you  ne'er,  think  who  made  them,  and  who  taught 
The  dialect  they  speak,  where  melodies 

Alone  are  the  interpreters  of  thought  ? 
Whose  household  words  are  songs  in  many  keys, 

Sweeter  than  instrument  of  man  e'er  caught ! 
Whose  habitations  in  the  tree-tops  even 
Are  halfway  houses  on  the  road  to  heaven ! 

"  Think,  every  morning  when  the  sun  peeps  through 
The  dim,  leaf-latticed  windows  of  the  grove, 

How  jubilant  the  happy  birds  renew 
Their  old,  melodious  madrigals  of  love  ! 

And  when  you  think  of  this,  remember  too 
'T  is  always  morning  somewhere,  and  above 

The  awakening  continents,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Somewhere  the  birds  are  singing  evermore. 

"  Think  of  your  woods  and  orchards  without  birds ! 

Of  empty  nests  that  cling  to  boughs  and  beams 
As  in  an  idiot's  brain  remembered  words 

Hang  empty  'mid  the  cobwebs  of  his  dreams ! 
Will  bleat  of  flocks  or  bellowing  of  herds 

Make  up  for  the  lost  music,  when  your  teams 
Drag  home  the  stingy  harvest,  and  no  more     ,  .\..\K 
The  feathered  gleaners  follow  to  your  door  ? 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

tf  What !  would  you  rather  see  the  incessant  stir 
Of  insects  in  the  windrows  of  the  hay, 

And  hear  the  locust  and  the  grasshopper 
Their  melancholy  hurdy-gurdies  play  ? 

Is  this  more  pleasant  to  you  than  the  whir 
Of  meadow-lark,  and  her  sweet  roundelay, 

Or  twitter  of  little  fieldfares,  as  you  take 

Your  nooning  in  the  shade  of  bush  and  brake  ? 

"  You  call  them  thieves  and  pillagers  ;  but  know, 
They  are  the  winged  wardens  of  your  farms, 

Who  from  the  cornfields  drive  the  insidious  foe, 
And  from  your  harvests  keep  a  hundred  harms ; 

Even  the  blackest  of  them  all,  the  crow, 
Renders  good  service  as  your  man-at-arms, 

Crushing  the  beetle  in  his  coat  of  mail, 

And  crying  havoc  on  the  slug  and  snail. 

"  How  can  I  teach  your  children  gentleness, 
And  mercy  to  the  weak,  and  reverence 

For  Life,  which,  in  its  weakness  or  excess, 
Is  still  a  gleam  of  God's  omnipotence, 

Or  Death,  which,  seeming  darkness,  is  no  less 
The  selfsame  light,  although  averted  hence, 

When  by  your  laws,  your  actions,  and  your  speech, 

You  contradict  the  very  things  I  teach  ?  " 

With  this  he  closed  ;  and  through  the  audience  went 
A  murmur,  like  the  rustle  of  dead  leaves  ; 

The  farmers  laughed  and  nodded,  and  some  bent 
Their  yellow  heads  together  like  their  sheaves  ; 

Men  have  no  faith  in  fine-spun  sentiment 

Who  put  their  trust  in  bullocks  and  in  beeves. 

The  birds  were  doomed ;  and,  as  the  record  shows, 

A  bounty  offered  for  the  heads  of  crows. 


386        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  was  another  audience  out  of  reach, 
Who  had  no  voice  nor  vote  in  making  laws, 

But  in  the  papers  read  his  little  speech, 

And  crowned  his  modest  temples  with  applause ; 

They  made  him  conscious,  each  one  more  than  each, 
He  still  was  victor,  vanquished  in  their  cause. 

Sweetest  of  all  the  applause  he  won  from  thee, 

O  fair  Almira  at  the  Academy  ! 

And  so  the  dreadful  massacre  began ; 

O'er  fields  and  orchards,  and  o'er  woodland  crests, 
The  ceaseless  fusillade  of  terror  ran. 

Dead  fell  the  birds,  with  blood-stains  on  their  breasts, 
Or  wounded  crept  away  from  sight  of  man, 

While  the  young  died  of  famine  in  their  nests ; 
A  slaughter  to  be  told  in  groans,  not  words, 
The  very  St.  Bartholomew  of  Birds ! 

The  Summer  came,  and  all  the  birds  were  dead ; 

The  days  were  like  hot  coals ;  the  very  ground 
Was  burned  to  ashes  ;  in  the  orchards  fed 

Myriads  of  caterpillars,  and  around 
The  cultivated  fields  and  garden  beds 

Hosts  of  devouring  insects  crawled,  and  found 
No  foe  to  check  their  march,  till  they  had  made 
The  land  a  desert  without  leaf  or  shade. 


Devoured  by  worms,  like  Herod,  was  the  town, 

Because,  like  Herod,  it  had  ruthlessly 
Slaughtered  the  Innocents.    From  the  trees  spun  down 

The  canker-worms  upon  the  passers-by, 
Upon  each  woman's  bonnet,  shawl,  and  gown, 

Who  shook  them  off  with  just  a  little  cry ; 
They  were  the  terror  of  each  favorite  walk, 
The  endless  theme  of  all  the  village  talk. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  387 

The  farmers  grew  impatient,  but  a  few 

Confessed  their  error,  and  would  not  complain, 

For  after  all,  the  best  thing  one  can  do 
When  it  is  raining,  is  to  let  it  rain. 

Then  they  repealed  the  law,  although  they  knew 
It  would  not  call  the  dead  to  life  again ; 

As  school-boys,  rinding  their  mistake  too  late, 

Draw  a  wet  sponge  across  the  accusing  slate. 

That  year  in  Killingworth  the  Autumn  came 

Without  the  light  of  his  majestic  look, 
The  wonder  of  the  falling  tongues  of  flame, 

The  illumined  pages  of  his  Doom's-Day  book. 
A  few  lost  leaves  blushed  crimson  with  their  shame, 

And  drowned  themselves  despairing  in  the  brook, 
While  the  wild  wind  went  moaning  everywhere, 
Lamenting  the  dead  children  of  the  air  ! 

But  the  next  Spring  a  stranger  sight  was  seen, 

A  sight  that  never  yet  by  bard  was  sung, 
As  great  a  wonder  as  it  would  have  been 

If  some  dumb  animal  had  found  a  tongue ! 
A  wagon,  overarched  with  evergreen, 

Upon  whose  boughs  were  wicker  cages  hung, 
All  full  of  singing-birds,  came  down  the  street, 
Filling  the  air  with  music  wild  and  sweet. 

From  all  the  country  round  these  birds  were  brought, 

By  order  of  the  town,  with  anxious  quest, 
And,  loosened  from  their  wicker  prisons,  sought 

In  woods  and  fields  the  places  they  loved  best, 
Singing  loud  canticles,  which  many  thought 

Were  satires  to  the  authorities  addressed, 
While  others,  listening  in  green  lanes,  averred 
Such  lovely  music  never  had  been  heard ! 


388         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But  blither  still  and  louder  carolled  they 
Upon  the  morrow,  for  they  seemed  to  know 

It  was  the  fair  Almira's  wedding-day, 
And  everywhere,  around,  above,  below, 

When  the  Preceptor  bore  hio  bride  away, 
Their  songs  burst  forth  in  joyous  overflow, 

And  a  new  heaven  bent  over  a  new  earth 

Amid  the  sunny  farms  of  Killing  worth. 


THE  SICILIAN'S  TALE 

FROM  "  TALES  OF  A  WAYSIDE  INN  " 

KING  ROBERT  OF  SICILY 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire, 
With  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire, 
On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 
And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  Magnificat. 
And  as  he  listened,  o'er  and  o'er  again 
Repeated,  like  a  burden  or  refrain, 
He  caught  the  words,  " Deposuit potentes 
De  sede,  et  exaltavit  humiles  ;  " 
And  slowly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head 
He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said, 
"What  mean  these  words  ?  "    The  clerk  made  answer  meet, 
"He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 
Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully, 
1  'T  is  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests  and  in  the  Latin  tongue ; 
For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 
There  is  no  power  can  push  me  from  my  throne !  " 
And  leaning  back,  he  yawned  and  fell  asleep, 
Lulled  by  the  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  3*9 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  already  night ;   . 

The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was  no  light, 

Save  where  the  lamps,  that  glimmered  few  and  faint, 

Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 

He  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around, 

But  saw  no  living  thing  and  heard  no  sound. 

He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was  locked ; 

He  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then  knocked, 

And  uttered  awful  threatenings  and  complaints, 

And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 

The  sounds  reechoed  from  the  roof  and  walls 

As  if  dead  priests  were  laughing  in  their  stalls. 

At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout, 
And  thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
Came  with  his  lantern,  asking,  "  Who  is  there  ?  " 
Half  choked  with  rage,  King  Robert  fiercely  said, 
"  Open  :  't  is  I,  the  King  !    Art  thou  afraid  ?  " 
The  frightened  sexton,  muttering,  with  a  curse, 
"  This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse !  " 
Turned  the  great  key  and  flung  the  portal  wide ; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  hat  or  cloak, 
Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  nor  spoke, 
But  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
And  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  his  sight. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane 
And  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bareheaded,  breathless,  and  besprent  with  mire, 
With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 
Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate ; 
Rushed  through  the  courtyard,  thrusting  in  his  rage 
To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page, 


390        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  hurried  up  the  broad  and  sounding  stair, 
His  white  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 
From  hall  to  hall  he  passed  with  breathless  speed ; 
Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed, 
Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room, 
Blazing  with  light,  and  breathing  with  perfume. 

There  on  the  dais  sat  another  king, 
Wearing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring, 
King  Robert's  self  in  features,  form,  and  height, 
But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light ! 
It  was  an  Angel ;  and  his  presence  there 
With  a  divine  effulgence  filled  the  air, 
An  exaltation,  piercing  the  disguise, 
Though  none  the  hidden  Angel  recognize. 

A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed, 

The  throneless  monarch  on  the  Angel  gazed, 

Who  met  his  look  of  anger  and  surprise 

With  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes ; 

Then  said,  "  Who  art  thou  ?  and  why  com'st  thou  here  ?  " 

To  which  King  Robert  answered  with  a  sneer, 

"  I  am  the  King,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 

From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne !  " 

And  suddenly,  at  these  audacious  words, 

Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their  swords ; 

The  Angel  answered,  with  unruffled  brow, 

"  Nay,  not  the  King,  but  the  King's  Jester,  thou 

Henceforth  shalt  wear  the  bells  and  scalloped  cape, 

And  for  thy  counsellor  shalt  lead  an  ape ; 

Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call, 

And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall !  " 

Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats  and  cries  and  prayers, 
They  thrust  him  from  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs ; 
A  group  of  tittering  pages  ran  before, 
And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding-door, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  391 

His  heart  failed,  for  he  heard,  with  strange  alarms, 
The  boisterous  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms, 
And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 
With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "  Long  live  the  King !  " 

Next  morning,  waking  with  the  day's  first  beam, 
He  said  within  himself,  "  It  was  a  dream  !  " 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head ; 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed ; 
Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls ; 
Close  by,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their  stalls, 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape, 
Shivering  and  chattering  sat  the  wretched  ape. 
It  was  no  dream  ;  the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch ! 

Days  came  and  went ;  and  now  returned  again 

To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign  ; 

Under  the  Angel's  governance  benign 

The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine, 

And  deep  within  the  mountain's  burning  breast 

Enceladus,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 

Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate, 

Sullen  and  silent  and  disconsolate. 

Dressed  in  the  motley  garb  that  Jesters  wear, 

With  look  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 

Close  shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are  shorn, 

By  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to  scorn, 

His  only  friend  the  ape,  his  only  food 

What  others  left,  —  he  still  was  unsubdued. 

And  when  the  Angel  met  him  on  his  way, 

And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would  say, 

Sternly,  though  tenderly,  that  he  might  feel 

The  velvet  scabbard  held  a  sword  of  steel, 

"  Art  thou  the  King  ?  "  the  passion  of  his  woe 

Burst  from  him  in  resistless  overflow, 


392         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And,  lifting  high  his  forehead,  he  would  fling 

The  haughty  answer  back,  "  I  am,  I  am  the  King !  " 


Almost  three  years  were  ended  ;  when  there  came 

Ambassadors  of  great  repute  and  name 

From  Valmond,  Emperor  of  Allemaine, 

Unto  King  Robert,  saying  that  Pope  Urbane 

By  letter  summoned  them  forthwith  to  come 

On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  city  of  Rome. 

The  Angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests, 

And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests, 

And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined, 

And  rings  and  jewels  of  the  rarest  kind. 

Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea 

Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 

Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 

By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade, 

With  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and  the  stir 

Of  jewelled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 

And  lo !  among  the  menials,  in  mock  state, 

Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait, 

His  cloak  of  fox-tails  flapping  in  the  wind, 

The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind, 

King  Robert  rode,  making  huge  merriment 

In  all  the  country  towns  through  which  they  went. 

The  Pope  received  them  with  great  pomp  and  blare 
Of  bannered  trumpets,  on  Saint  Peter's  square, 
Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace, 
Fervent,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 
While  with  congratulations  and  with  prayers 
He  entertained  the  Angel  unawares, 
Robert,  the  Jester,  bursting  through  the  crowd, 
Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud, 
I  am  the  King !    Look,  and  behold  in  me 
Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily  ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  393 

This  man,  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your  eyes, 

Is  an  impostor  in  a  king's  disguise. 

Do  you  not  know  me  ?  does  no  voice  within 

Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin  ?  " 

The  Pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 

Gazed  at  the  Angel's  countenance  serene  ; 

The  Emperor,  laughing,  said,  "  It  is  strange  sport 

To  keep  a  madman  for  thy  Fool  at  court !  " 

And  the  poor,  baffled  Jester  in  disgrace 

Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace. 

In  solemn  state  the  Holy  Week  went  by, 

And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky ; 

The  presence  of  the  Angel,  with  its  light, 

Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright, 

And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men, 

Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again. 

Even  the  Jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw, 

With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor  saw, 

He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 

And,  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber- floor, 

He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord 

Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heavenward. 

And  now  the  visit  ending,  and  once  more 
Valmond  returning  to  the  Danube's  shore, 
Homeward  the  Angel  journeyed,  and  again 
The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train, 
Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 
Unto  Salerno,  and  from  thence  by  sea. 
And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall, 
And,  seated  on  the  throne  in  his  great  hall, 
He  heard  the  Angelus  from  convent  towers, 
As  if  the  better  world  conversed  with  ours, 
He  beckoned  to  King  Robert  to  draw  nigher, 
And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire ; 


394        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  when  they  were  alone,  the  Angel  said, 
"  Art  thou  the  King  ?  "    Then,  bowing  down  his  head, 
King  Robert  crossed  both  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  meekly  answered  him  :  "  Thou  knowest  best! 
My  sins  as  scarlet  are ;  let  me  go  hence, 
And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 
Across  those  stones,  that  pave  the  way  to  heaven, 
Walk  barefoot,  till  my  guilty  soul  be  shriven !  " 

The  Angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 

A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place, 

And  through  the  open  window,  loud  and  clear, 

They  heard  the  monks  chant  in  the  chapel  near, 

Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street : 

"  He  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 

And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree !  " 

And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 

Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string : 

"  I  am  an  Angel,  and  thou  art  the  King !  " 

King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 

Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo  !  he  was  alone  ! 

But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old, 

With  ermined  mantle  and  with  cloth  of  gold ; 

And  when  his  courtiers  came,  they  found  him  there 

Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 

EVANGELINE 
A  TALE  OF  ACADIE 

This  is  the  forest  primeval.   The  murmuring  pines  and  the  hem 
locks, 

Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green,  indistinct  in  the  twi 
light, 

Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices  sad  and  prophetic, 
Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that  rest  on  their  bosoms. 
Loud -from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep-voiced  neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail  of  the  forest. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  395 

This  is  the  forest  primeval ;  but  where  are  the  hearts  that 

beneath  it 
Leaped  like  the  roe,  when  he  hears  in  the  woodland  the  voice  of 

the  huntsman  ? 

Where  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home  of  Acadian  farmers,  — 
Men  whose  lives  glided  on  like  rivers  that  water  the  woodlands,  - 
Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting  an  image  of  heaven  ? 
Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  farmers  forever  departed  ! 
Scattered  like  dust  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty  blasts  of  October 
Seize  them,  and  whirl  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle  them  far  o'er  the 

ocean. 
Naught  but  tradition  remains  of  the  beautiful  village  of  Grand- Pre" . 

Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and  endures,  and  is 

patient, 

Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of  woman's  devotion, 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the  pines  of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the  happy. 

PART  THE  FIRST 


In  the  Acadian  land,  on  the  shores  of  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little  village  of  Grand-Pre" 
Lay  in  the  fruitful  valley.   Vast  meadows  stretched  to  the  eastward, 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and  pasture  to  flocks  without  number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised  with  labor  incessant, 
Shut  out  the  turbulent  tides ;  but  at  stated  seasons  the  flood-gates 
Opened  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wander  at  will  o'er  the  meadows. 
West  and  south  there  were  fields  of  flax,  and  orchards  and  corn 
fields 
Spreading  afar  and  unfenced  o'er  the  plain ;  and  away  to  the 

northward 

Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on  the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  their  tents,  and  mists  from  the  mighty  Atlantic 
Looked  on  the  happy  valley,   but  ne'er  from  their  station  de 
scended. 


396        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There,  in  the  midst  of  its  farms,  reposed  the  Acadian  village. 
Strongly  built  were  the  houses,  with  frames  of  oak  and  of  hemlock 
Such  as  the  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the  reign  of  the  Henries. 
Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer-windows ;  and  gables  pro 
jecting 

Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded  the  doorway. 
There   in  the  tranquil   evenings  of  summer,   when   brightly  the 

sunset 

Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes  on  the  chimneys, 
Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps  and  in  kirtles 
Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs  spinning  the  golden 
Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shuttles  within  doors 
Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the  wheels  and  the  songs  of 

the  maidens. 

Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest,  and  the  children 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to  bless  them. 
Reverend   walked   he   among  them  ;    and  up  rose  matrons  and 

maidens, 

Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affectionate  welcome. 
Then  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field,  and  serenely  the 

sun  sank 

Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.    Anon  from  the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs  of  the  village 
Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  incense  ascending, 
Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace  and  contentment. 
Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Acadian  farmers,  - 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.    Alike  were  they  free  from 
Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the  vice  of  republics. 
Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to  their  windows  ; 
But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the  hearts  of  the  owners ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived  in  abundance. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of  Grand-Pre", 
Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres ;  and  with  him,  directing  his  household, 
Gentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride  of  the  village. 
Stalworth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of  seventy  winters ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  397 

Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered  with  snow-flakes ; 
White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks  as  brown  as  the 

oak-leaves. 

Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seventeen  summers ; 
Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on  the  thorn  by  the 

wayside, 
Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the  brown  shade  of 

her  tresses ! 
Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that  feed   in  the 

meadows. 

When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers  at  noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah  !  fair  in  sooth  was  the  maiden. 
Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Sunday  morn,  while  the  bell  from  its 

turret 

Sprinkled  with  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest  with  his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings  upon  them, 
Down  the  long  street  she  passed,  with  her  chaplet  of  beads  and 

her  missal, 

Wearing  her  Norman  cap  and  her  kirtle  of  blue,  and  the  ear-rings 
Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France,  and  since,  as  an  heirloom, 
Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long  generations. 
But  a  celestial  brightness  —  a  more  ethereal  beauty  — 
Shone  on  her  face  and  encircled  her  form,  when,  after  confession, 
Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's  benediction  upon  her. 
When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing  of  exquisite  music. 

Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of  the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea ;  and  a  shady 
Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a  woodbine  wreathing  around  it. 
Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  beneath  ;  and  a  footpath 
Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared  in  the  meadow. 
Under  the  sycamore-tree  were  hives  overhung  by  a  penthouse, 
Such  as  the  traveller  sees  in  regions  remote  by  the  roadside, 
Built  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,  or  the  blessed  image  of  Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the  well  with  its  moss- 
grown 
Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough  for  the  horses. 


398        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north,  were  the  barns  and 

the  farm-yard  ; 
There  stood  the  broad-wheeled  wains  and  the  antique  ploughs  and 

the  harrows  ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep  ;  and  there,  in  his  feathered 

seraglio, 

Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock,  with  the  selfsame 
Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  penitent  Peter. 
Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns,  themselves  a  village.    In  each 

one 

Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch  ;  and  a  staircase, 
Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous  corn-loft. 
There  too  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and  innocent  inmates 
Murmuring  ever  of  love  ;  while  above  in  the  variant  breezes 
Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang  of  mutation. 

Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the  farmer  of  Grand- 


Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  governed  his  household. 
Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and  opened  his  missal, 
Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  as  the  saint  of  his  deepest  devotion  ; 
Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the  hem  of  her 

garment  ! 

Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  darkness  befriended, 
And,  as  he  knocked  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound  of  her  footsteps, 
Knew    not   which   beat   the    louder,   his    heart   or   the    knocker 

of  iron; 

Or,  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the  village, 
Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance  as  he  whispered 
Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of  the  music. 
But  among  all  who  came  young  Gabriel  only  was  welcome  ; 
Gabriel  Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  blacksmith, 
Who  was  a  mighty  man  in  the  village,  and  honored  of  all  men  ; 
For  since  the  birth  ^of  time,  throughout  all  ages  and  nations, 
Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by  the  people. 
Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.   Their  children  from  earliest  childhood 
Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister  ;  and  Father  Felician, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  399 

Priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had  taught  them  their 

letters 
Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the  church  and  the 

plain-song. 

But  when  the  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  daily  lesson  completed, 
Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil  the  blacksmith. 
There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering  eyes  to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as  a  plaything, 
Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place ;  while  near  him  the  tire  of  the  cart 
wheel 

Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle  of  cinders. 
Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gathering  darkness 
Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through  every  cranny  and 

crevice, 

Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched  the  laboring  bellows, 
And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks  expired  in  the  ashes, 
Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nuns  going  into  the  chapel. 
Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the  swoop  of  the  eagle, 
Down  the  hillside  bounding,  they  glided  away  o'er  the  meadow. 
Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous  nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous  stone,  which  the  swallow 
Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the  sight  of  its  fledg 
lings  ; 

Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest  of  the  swallow ! 
Thus  passed  a  few  swift  years,  and  they  no  longer  were  children. 
He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the  face  of  the  morning, 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light  and  ripened  thought  into  action. 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes  of  a  woman. 
"  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie  "  was  she  called ;  for  that  was  the 

sunshine 
Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their  orchards  with 

apples ; 

She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband's  house  delight  and  abundance, 
Filling  it  full  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces  of  children. 


400         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


i\ 


Pleasantly  rose  next  morn  the  sun  on  the  village  of  Grand-Pre". 
Pleasantly  gleamed  in  the  soft,  sweet  air  the  Basin  of  Minas, 
Where  the  ships,  with  their  wavering  shadows,  were  riding  at 

anchor. 

Life  had  long  been  astir  in  the  village,  and  clamorous  labor 
Knocked  with  its  hundred  hands  at  the  golden  gates  of  the  morning. 
Now  from  the  country  around,  from  the  farms  and  neighboring 

hamlets, 

Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe  Acadian  peasants. 
Many  a  glad  good-morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from  the  young  folk 
Made  the  bright  air  brighter,  as  up  from  the  numerous  meadows, 
Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the  track  of  wheels  in  the 

greensward, 

Group  after  group  appeared,  and  joined,  or  passed  on  the  highway. 
Long  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labor  were  silenced. 
Thronged  were  the  streets  with  people ;   and  noisy  groups  at  the 

house-doors 

Sat  in  the  cheerful  sun,  and  rejoiced  and  gossiped  together. 
Every  house  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  welcomed  and  feasted ; 
For  with  this  simple  people,  who  lived  like  brothers  together, 
All  things  were  held  in  common,  and  what  one  had  was  another's. 
Yet  under  Benedict's  roof  hospitality  seemed  more  abundant : 
For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her  father ; 
Bright  was    her  face  with   smiles,   and  words  of  welcome  and 

gladness 
Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed  the  cup  as  she  gave  it. 

Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous  air  of  the  orchard, 
Stript  of  its  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feast  of  betrothal. 
There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest  and  the  notary 

seated  ; 

There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy  Basil  the  blacksmith. 
Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the  cider-press  and  the  beehives, 
Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  with  the  gayest  of  hearts  and  of 

waistcoats. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  401 

Shadow  and  light  from  the  leaves  alternately  played  on  his  snow- 
white 

Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind ;  and  the  jolly  face  of  the  fiddler 
Glowed  like  a  living  coal  when  the  ashes  are  blown  from  the 

embers. 

Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of  his  fiddle, 
Tons  les  Bourgeois  de  Chartres,  and  Le  Carillon  de  Dunkerque, 
And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the  music. 
Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzying  dances 
Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to  the  meadows  ; 
Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  mingled  among  them. 
Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Benedict's  daughter ! 
Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of  the  blacksmith ! 

So  passed  the  morning  away.   And  lo  !  with  a  summons  sonorous 
Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the  meadows  a  drum 

beat. 
Thronged  ere  long  was  the  church  with  men.    Without,  in  the 

churchyard, 
Waited  the  women.    They  stood  by  the  graves,  and  hung  on  the 

headstones 

Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and  evergreens  fresh  from  the  forest. 
Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  marching  proudly  among 

them 

Entered  the  sacred  portal.    With  loud  and  dissonant  clangor 
Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from  ceiling  and  case 
ment,  — 

Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponderous  portal 
Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the  will  of  the  soldiers. 
Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from  the  steps  of  the 

altar, 

Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the  royal  commission. 
"  You  are  convened  this  day,"  he  said,  "by  his  Majesty's  orders. 
Clement  and  kind  has  he  been  ;  but  how  you  have  answered  his 

kindness 

Let  your  own  hearts  reply  !    To  .my  natural  make  and  my  temper 
Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  T  know  must  be  grievous. 


402        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  will  of  our  monarch : 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and  cattle  of  all  kinds 
Forfeited  be  to  the  crown ;    and  that  you  yourselves  from  this 

province 

Be  transported  to  other  lands.    God  grant  you  may  dwell  there 
Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable  people ! 
Prisoners  now  I  declare  you,  for  such  is  his  Majesty's  pleasure !  " 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice  of  summer, 
Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling  of  the  hailstones 
Beats  down  the  farmer's  corn  in  the  field,  and  shatters  his  windows, 
Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  ground  with  thatch  from  the 

house-roofs, 

Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their  enclosures ; 
So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the  words  of  the  speaker. 
Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  wonder,  and  then  rose 
Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  anger, 
And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed  to  the  door-way. 
Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape ;  and  cries  and  fierce  imprecations 
Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer;  and  high  o'er  the  heads  of 

the  others 

Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil  the  blacksmith, 
As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  is  tossed  by  the  billows. 
Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion ;  and  wildly  he 

shouted,  — 
"  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England !  we  never  have  sworn  them 

allegiance ! 
Death  to  these  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our  homes  and 

our  harvests !  " 

More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the  merciless  hand  of  a  soldier 
Smote  him   upon  the   mouth,   and  dragged   him   down   to   the 

pavement. 

In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry  contention, 
Lo !  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father  Felician 
Entered,  with  serious  mien,  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the  altar. 
Raising  his  reverend  hand,  with  a  gesture  he  awed  into  silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng ;  and  thus  he  spake  to  his  people ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  403 

Deep  were  his  tones  and  solemn  ;  in  accents  measured  and  mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly  the  clock  strikes. 
"  What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children  ?  what  madness  has  seized 

you? 

Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you,  and  taught  you, 
Not  in  word  alone,  but  in  deed,  to  love  one  another ! 
Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and  prayers  and  privations  ? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love  and  forgiveness  ? 
This  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and  would  you  profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing  with  hatred  ? 
Lo  !  where  the  crucified  Christ  from  His  cross  is  gazing  upon  you  ! 
See  !  in  those  sorrowful  eyes  what  meekness  and  holy  compassion  ! 
Hark !  how  those  lips  still  repeat  the  prayer,  '  O  Father,  forgive 

them ! ' 

Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the  wicked  assail  us, 
Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  *  O  Father,  forgive  them  ! ' 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the  hearts  of  his  people 
Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  the  passionate  out 
break, 
While  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  "  O  Father,  forgive  them ! " 

Then  came  the  evening  service.    The  tapers  gleamed  from  the 

altar ; 
Fervent  and  deep  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  the  people 

responded, 

Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts  ;  and  the  Ave  Maria 
Sang  they,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  and  their  souls,  with  devotion 

translated, 
Rose  on  the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Elijah  ascending  to  heaven. 

Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tidings  of  ill,  and  on 

all  sides 

Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to  house  the  women  and  children. 
Long  at  her  father's  door  Evangeline  stood,  with  her  right  hand 
Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the  sun,  that,  descending, 
Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splendor,  and  roofed  each 
Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  emblazoned  its  windows. 


404        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Long  within  had  been  spread  the  snow-white  cloth  on  the  table ; 
There  stood  the  wheaten  loaf,  and  the  honey  fragrant  with  wild 

flowers ; 
There  stood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the  cheese  fresh  brought  from 

the  dairy ; 

And  at  the  head  of  the  board  the  great  arm-chair  of  the  farmer. 
Thus  did  Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door,  as  the  sunset 
Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o'er  the  broad  ambrosial  meadows. 
Ah !  on  her  spirit  within  a  deeper  shadow  had  fallen, 
And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance  celestial  ascended,  — 
Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgiveness,  and  patience  ! 
Then,  all  forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the  village, 
Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  mournful  hearts  of  the  women, 
As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  lingering  steps  they  departed, 
Urged  by  their  household    cares,   and  the  weary  feet  of  their 

children. 

Down  sank  the  great  red  sun,  and  in  golden,  glimmering  vapors 
Veiled  the  light  of  his  face,  like  the  Prophet  descending  from  Sinai. 
Sweetly  over  the  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus  sounded. 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church  Evangeline  lingered. 
All  was  silent  within ;  and  in  vain  at  the  door  and  the  windows 
Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  until,  overcome  by  emotion, 
"  Gabriel !  "  cried  she  aloud  with  tremulous  voice  ;  but  no  answer 
Came  from  the  graves  of  the  dead,  nor  the  gloomier  grave  of  the 

living. 

Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless  house  of  her  father. 
Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board  was  the  supper 

untasted. 
Empty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and  haunted  with  phantoms  of 

terror. 

Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor  of  her  chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  disconsolate  rain  fall 
Loud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore-tree  by  the  window. 
Keenly  the  lightning  flashed  ;  and  the  voice  of  the  echoing  thunder 
Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed  the  world  He 

created ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  405 

Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had  heard  of  the  justice  of 

Heaven  ; 
Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peacefully  slumbered  till 

morning. 


Four  times  the  sun  had  risen  and  set ;  and  now  on  the  fifth  day 
Cheerily  called  the  cock  to  the  sleeping  maids  of  the  farm-house. 
Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent  and  mournful  procession, 
Came  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and  farms  the  Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  household  goods  to  the  sea-shore, 
Pausing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on  their  dwellings, 
Ere  they  were   shut  from   sight  by  the  winding  road   and   the 

woodland. 

Close  at  their  sides  their  children  ran,  and  urged  on  the  oxen, 
While  in  their  little  hands  they  clasped  some  fragments  of  play 
things. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried  ;  and  there  on  the 

sea-beach 

Piled  in  confusion  lay  the  household  goods  of  the  peasants. 
All  day  long  between  the  shore  and  the  ships  did  the  boats  ply  ; 
All  day  long  the  wains  came  laboring  down  from  the  village. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near  to  his  setting, 
Echoed    far   o'er   the   fields  came  the  roll   of  drums   from   the 

churchyard. 
Thither  the  women  and   children  thronged.     On  a  sudden  the 

church-doors 
Opened,   and  forth  came   the  guard,   and   marching  in  gloomy 

procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Acadian  farmers. 
Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afar  from  their  homes  and  their 

country, 

Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are  weary  and  wayworn, 
So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants  descended 
Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  their  wives  and  their 

daughters. 


406        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Foremost  the  young  men  came ;  and,  raising  together  their  voices, 
Sang  with  tremulous  lips  a  chant  of  the  Catholic  Missions  :  — 
"  Sacred  heart  of  the  Saviour !  O  inexhaustible  fountain  ! 
Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength  and  submission  and  patience! " 
Then  the  old  men,  as  they  marched,  and  the  women  that  stood  by 

the  wayside 
Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds  in  the  sunshine  above 

them 
Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like  voices  of  spirits  departed. 

Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evangeline  waited  in  silence, 
Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  in  the  hour  of  affliction,  — 
Calmly  and  sadly  she  waited,  until  the  procession  approached  her, 
And  she  beheld  the  face  of  Gabriel  pale  with  emotion. 
Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running  to  meet  him, 
Clasped  she  his  hands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and 

whispered,  — 

"  Gabriel !  be  of  good  cheer !  for  if  we  love  one  another 
Nothing,  in  truth,  can  harm  us,  whatever  mischances  may  happen!" 
Smiling  she  spake  these  words ;   then  suddenly  paused,  for  her 

father 

Saw  she,  slowly  advancing.    Alas  ! .  how  changed  was  his  aspect ! 
Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fire  from  his  eye,  and 

his  footstep 

Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the  heavy  heart  in  his  bosom. 
But  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped  his  neck  and  embraced 

him, 

Speaking  words  of  endearment  where  words  of  comfort  availed  not. 
Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  moved  on  that  mournful  procession. 

There  disorder  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and  stir  of  embarking. 
Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats  ;  and  in  the  confusion 
Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  mothers,  too  late,  saw 

their  children 

Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with  wildest  entreaties. 
So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  Gabriel  carried, 
While  in  despair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood  with  her  father. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD          407 

Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went  down,  and  the 

twilight 

Deepened  and  darkened  around  ;  and  in  haste  the  refluent  ocean 
Fled  away  from  the  shore,  and  left  the  line  of  the  sand-beach 
Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp  and  the  slippery  sea-weed. 
Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  household  goods  and  the  wagons, 
Like  to  a  gypsy  camp,  or  a  leaguer  after  a  battle, 
All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels  near  them, 
Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Acadian  farmers. 
Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bellowing  ocean, 
Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  pebbles,  and  leaving 
Inland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded  boats  of  the  sailors. 
Then,   as  the  night  descended,   the  herds  returned   from  their 

pastures ; 
Sweet  was  the  moist  still  air  with  the  odor  of  milk  from  their 

udders ; 
Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the  well-known  bars  of  the 

farmyard,  — 
Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice  and  the  hand  of  the 

milkmaid. 
Silence  reigned   in   the  streets ;    from  the  church   no  Angelus 

sounded, 
Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and  gleamed  no  lights  from  the 

windows. 

But  on  the  shores  meanwhile  the  evening  fires  had  been  kindled, 
Built  of  the  drift-wood  thrown  on  the  sands  from  wrecks  in  the 

tempest. 

Round  them  shapes  of  gloom  and  sorrowful  faces  were  gathered, 
Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and  the  crying  of 

children. 

Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth  in  his  parish, 
Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consoling  and  blessing  and  cheering, 
Like  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  desolate  seashore. 
Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline  sat  with  her  father, 
And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face  of  the  old  man, 
Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  without  either  thought  or  emotion, 


408         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands  have  been  taken. 
Vainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses  to  cheer  him, 
Vainly  offered  him  food ;   yet  he  moved  not,  he  looked  not,  he 

spake  not, 

But,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flickering  fire-light. 
"  Benedicite"  murmured  the  priest,  in  tones  of  compassion. 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  his  heart  was  full,  and  his  accents 
Faltered  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of  a  child  on  a  threshold, 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the  awful  presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  the  maiden, 
Raising  his  tearful  eyes  to  the  silent  stars  that  above  them 
Moved  on  their  way,  unperturbed  by  the  wrongs  and  sorrows  of 

mortals. 
Then  sat  he  down  at  her  side,  and  they  wept  together  in  silence. 

Suddenly  rose  from  the  south  a  light,  as  in  autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and  o'er  the  horizon 
Titan-like  stretches  its  hundred  hands  upon  mountain  and  meadow, 
Seizing  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  and  piling  huge  shadows  together. 
Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs  of  the  village, 
Gleamed  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  ships  that  lay  in  the 

roadstead. 

Columns  of  shining  smoke  uprose,  and  flashes  of  flame  were 
Thrust  through  their  folds  and  withdrawn,  like  the  quivering  hands 

of  a  martyr. 
Then  as  the  wind  seized  the  gleeds  and  the  burning  thatch,  and, 

uplifting, 
Whirled  them  aloft  through   the  air,  at  once  from   a  hundred 

housetops 
Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes  of  flame  intermingled. 

These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the  crowd  on  the  shore  and  on 

shipboard. 

Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud  in  their  anguish, 
"  We  shall  behold  no  more  our  homes  in  the  village  of  Grand- 

Pre !  " 
Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  crow  in  the  farmyards, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  409 

Thinking  the  day  had  dawned  ;  and  anon  the  lowing  of  cattle 

Came  on  the  evening  breeze,  by  the  barking  of  dogs  interrupted. 

Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the  sleeping  encamp 
ments 

Far  in  the  western  prairies  of  forests  that  skirt  the  Nebraska, 

When  the  wild  horses  affrighted  sweep  by  with  the  speed  of  the 
whirlwind, 

Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to  the  river. 

Such  was  the  sound  that  arose  on  the  night,  as  the  herds  and  the 
horses 

Broke  through  their  folds  and  fences,  and  madly  rushed  o'er  the 
meadows. 

Overwhelmed  with  the  sight,  yet  speechless,  the  priest  and  the 

maiden 
Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and  widened  before 

them ; 

And  as  they  turned  at  length  to  speak  to  their  silent  companion, 
Lo !    from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and  stretched  abroad  on  the 

seashore 

Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had  departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and  the  maiden 
Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in  her  terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head  on  his  bosom. 
Through  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious  slumber ; 
And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld  a  multitude  near 

her. 

Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully  gazing  upon  her, 
Pallid,  with  tearful  eyes,  and  looks  of  saddest  compassion. 
Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined  the  landscape, 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the  faces  around  her, 
And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  her  wavering  senses, 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to  the  people  — 
"  Let  us  bury  him  here  by  the  sea.    When  a  happier  season 
Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknown  land  of  our 

exile, 
Then  shall  his  sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  in  the  churchyard," 


410        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.    And  there  in  haste  by  the 

seaside, 

Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral  torches, 
But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer  of  Grand-Pre. 
And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  service  of  sorrow, 
Lo  !  with  a  mournful  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a  vast  congregation. 
Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar  with  the  dirges. 
'T  was  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from  the  waste  of  the  ocean, 
With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and  hurrying  land 
ward. 

Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise  of  embarking ; 
And  with  the  ebb  of  that  tide  the  ships  sailed  out  of  the  harbor, 
Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and  the  village  in 
ruins. 

PART  THE  SECOND 
II 


It  was  the  month  of  May.    Far  down  the  Beautiful  River, 
Past  the  Ohio  shore  and  past  the  mouth  of  the  Wabash, 
Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift  Mississippi, 
Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by  Acadian  boatmen. 
It  was  a  band  of  exiles  :  a  raft,  as  it  were,  from  the  shipwrecked 
Nation,  scattered  along  the  coast,  now  floating  together, 
Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief  and  a  common  misfortune  ; 
Men  and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by  hope  or  by  hearsay, 
Sought  for  their  kith  and  their  kin  among  the  few-acred  farmers 
On  the  Acadian  coast,  and  the  prairies  of  fair  Opelousas. 
With  them  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the  Father  Felician. 
Onward  o'er  sunken  sands,  through  a  wilderness  sombre  with 

forests, 

Day  after  day  they  glided  adown  the  turbulent  river ; 
Night  after  night,  by  their  blazing  fires,  encamped  on  its  borders. 
Now  through  rushing  chutes,  among  green  islands,  where  plumelike 
Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy  crests,  they  swept  with  the 

current, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  411 

Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where  silvery  sandbars 
Lay  in  the  stream,  and  along  the  wimpling  waves  of  their  margin, 
Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large  flocks  of  pelicans  waded. 
Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the  shores  of  the  river, 
Shaded  by  china-trees,  in  the  midst  of  luxuriant  gardens, 
Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with  negro  cabins  and  dove-cots. 
They  were  approaching  the  region  where  reigns  perpetual  summer, 
Where  through  the  Golden  Coast,  and  groves  of  orange  and  citron, 
Sweeps  with  majestic  curve  the  river  away  to  the  eastward. 
They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course  ;  and,  entering  the  Bayou  of 

Plaquemine, 

Soon  were  lost  in  a  maze  of  sluggish  and  devious  waters, 
Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended  in  every  direction. 
Over  their  heads  the  towering  and  tenebrous  boughs  of  the  cypress 
Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailing  mosses  in  mid-air 
Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls  of  ancient  cathedrals. 
Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save  by  the  herons 
Home  to  their  roosts  in  the  cedar-trees  returning  at  sunset, 
Or  by  the  owl,  as  he  greeted  the  moon  with  demoniac  laughter. 
Lovely  the  moonlight  was  as  it  glanced  and  gleamed  on  the  water, 
Gleamed  on  the  columns  of  cypress  and  cedar  sustaining  the  arches, 
Down  through  whose  broken  vaults  it  fell  as  through  chinks  in  a 

ruin. 

Dreamlike,  and  indistinct,  and  strange  were  all  things  around  them ; 
And  o'er  their  spirits  there  came  a  feeling  of  wonder  and  sad 
ness,  — 

Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and  that  cannot  be  compassed. 
As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  turf  of  the  prairies, 
Far  in  advance  are  closed  the  leaves  of  the  shrinking  mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  of  fate,  with  sad  forebodings  of  evil, 
Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  the  stroke  of  doom  has  attained  it. 
But  Evangeline's  heart  was  sustained  by  a  vision,  that  faintly 
Floated  before  her  eyes,  and  beckoned  her  on  through  the  moonlight. 
It  was  the  thought  of  her  brain  that  assumed  the  shape  of  a 

phantom. 

Through  those  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wandered  before  her, 
And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought  him  nearer  and  nearer. 


412         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat,  rose  one  of  the  oarsmen, 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  peradventure 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams,  blew  a  blast  on  his 

bugle. 
Wild  through  the  dark  colonnades  and  corridors  leafy  the  blast 

rang, 

Breaking  the  seal  of  silence  and  giving  tongues  to  the  forest. 
Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just  stirred  to  the  music. 
Multitudinous  echoes  awoke  and  died  in  the  distance, 
Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  reverberant  branches ; 
But  not  a  voice  replied  ;  no  answer  came  from  the  darkness  ; 
And  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  like  a  sense  of  pain  was  the 

silence. 
Then   Evangeline  slept ;    but   the    boatmen   rowed    through  the 

midnight, 

Silent  at  times,  then  singing  familiar  Canadian  boat-songs, 
Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadian  rivers, 
While  through  the  night  were  heard  the  mysterious  sounds  of  the 

desert, 

Far  off,  —  indistinct,  —  as  of  wave  or  wind  in  the  forest, 
Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar  of  the  grim 

alligator. 

Thus  ere  another  noon  they  emerged  from  the  shades ;    and 

before  them 

Lay,  in  the  golden  sun,  the  lakes  of  the  Atchafalaya. 
Water-lilies  in  myriads  rocked  on  the  slight  undulations 
Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,  resplendent  in  beauty,  the  lotus 
Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the  boatmen. 
Faint  was  the  air  with  the  odorous  breath  of  magnolia  blossoms, 
And  with  the  heat  of  noon  ;  and  numberless  sylvan  islands, 
Fragrant  and  thickly  embowered  with  blossoming  hedges  of  roses, 
Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along,  invited  to  slumber. 
Soon  by  the  fairest  of  these  their  weary  oars  were  suspended. 
Under  the  boughs  of  Wachita  willows,  that  grew  by  the  margin, 
Safely  their  boat  was  moored ;  and  scattered  about  on  the  green 
sward, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  413 

Tired  with  their  midnight  toil,  the  weary  travellers  slumbered. 
Over  them  vast  and  high  extended  the  cope  of  a  cedar. 
Swinging  from  its  great  arms,  the  trumpet-flower  and  the  grap&- 

vine 

Hung  their  ladder  of  ropes  aloft  like  the  ladder  of  Jacob, 
On  whose  pendulous  stairs  the  angels  ascending,  descending, 
Were  the  swift  humming-birds,  that  flitted  from  blossom  to  blossom. 
Such  was  the  vision  Evangeline  saw  as  she  slumbered  beneath  it. 
Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and  the  dawn  of  an  opening  heaven 
Lighted  her  soul  in  sleep  with  the  glory  of  regions  celestial. 

Nearer,  ever  nearer,  among  the  numberless  islands, 
Darted  a  light,  swift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er  the  water, 
Urged  on  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms  of  hunters  and  trappers. 
Northward  its  prow  was  turned,  to  the  land  of  the  bison  and  beaver. 
At  the  helm  sat  a  youth,  with  countenance  thoughtful  and  careworn. 
Dark  and  neglected  locks  overshadowed  his  brow,  and  a  sadness 
Somewhat  beyond  his  years  on  his  face  was  legibly  written. 
Gabriel  was  it,  who,  weary  with  waiting,  unhappy  and  restless, 
Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of  self  and  of  sorrow. 
Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under  the  lee  of  the  island, 
But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a  screen  of  palmettos ; 
So  that  they  saw  not  the  boat,  where  it  lay  concealed  in  the  willows  ; 
All  undisturbed  by  the  dash  of  their  oars,  and  unseen,  were  the 

sleepers ; 

Angel  of  God  was  there  none  to  awaken  the  slumbering  maiden. 
Swiftly  they  glided  away,  like  the  shade  of  a  cloud  on  the  prairie. 
After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had  died  in  the  distance, 
As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and  the  maiden 
Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest,  "  O  Father  Felician ! 
Something  says  in  my  heart  that  near  me  Gabriel  wanders. 
Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  superstition  ? 
Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth  to  my  spirit  ?  " 
Then,  with  a  blush,  she  added,  "  Alas  for  my  credulous  fancy ! 
Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have  no  meaning." 
But    made    answer  the    reverend    man,    and    he    smiled    as    he 
answered,  — 


4T4        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle ;  nor  are  they  to  me  without 
meaning, 

Feeling  is  deep  and  still ;  and  the  word  that  floats  on  the  surface 

Is  as  the  tossing  buoy,  that  betrays  where  the  anchor  is  hidden. 

Therefore  trust  to  thy  heart,  and  to  what  the  world  calls  illusions. 

Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee ;  for  not  far  away  to  the  southward, 

On  the  banks  of  the  Teche,  are  the  towns  of  St.  Maur  and 
St.  Martin. 

There  the  long-wandering  bride  shall  be  given  again  to  her  bride 
groom, 

There  the  long-absent  pastor  regain  his  flock  and  his  sheepfold. 

Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests  of  fruit-trees ; 

Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest  of  heavens 

Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls  of  the  forest. 

They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the  Eden  of  Louisiana." 

With  these  words  of   cheer  they  arose  and  continued  their 

journey. 

Softly  the  evening  came.    The  sun  from  the  western  horizon 
Like  a  magician  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er  the  landscape ; 
Twinkling  vapors  arose ;  and  sky  and  water  and  forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and  mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with  edges  of  silver, 
Floated  the  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars,  on  the  motionless  water. 
Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inexpressible  sweetness. 
Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountains  of  feeling 
Glowed  with  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and  waters  around  her. 
Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  mocking-bird,  wildest  of 

singers, 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er  the  water, 
Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious  music, 
That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves  seemed  silent  to 

listen. 

Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad  ;  then  soaring  to  madness 
Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  frenzied  Bacchantes. 
Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low  lamentation ; 
Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them  abroad  in  derision, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  415 

As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through  the  tree-tops 
Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower  on  the  branches. 
With  such  a  prelude  as  this,  and  hearts  that  throbbed  with  emotion, 
Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,  where  it  flows  through  the  green 

Opelousas,  • 

And,  through  the  amber  air,  above  the  crest  of  the  woodland, 
Saw  the  column  of  smoke  that  arose  from  a  neighboring  dwell 
ing;— 
Sounds  of  a  horn  they  heard,  and  the  distant  lowing  of  cattle. 


In  that  delightful  land  which   is  washed  by  the    Delaware's 

waters, 

Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name  of  Penn  the  apostle, 
Stands  on  the  banks  of  its  beautiful  stream  the  city  he  founded. 
There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach  is  the  emblem  of  beauty, 
And  the  streets  still  reecho  the  names  of  the  trees  of  the  forest, 
As  if  they  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads  whose  haunts  they 

molested. 

There  from  the  troubled  sea  had  Evangeline  landed,  an  exile, 
Finding  among  the  children  of  Penn  a  home  and  a  country. 
There  old  Rene  Leblanc  had  died  ;  and  when  he  departed, 
Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  hundred  descendants. 
Something  at  least  there  was  in  the  friendly  streets  of  the  city, 
Something  that  spake  to  her  heart,  and  made  her  no  longer  a 

stranger ; 
And   her   ear   was    pleased   with   the    Thee   and  Thou    of   the 

Quakers, 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  country, 
Where  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  brothers  and  sisters. 
So,  when  the  fruitless  search,  the  disappointed  endeavor, 
Ended,  to  recommence  no  more  upon  earth,  uncomplaining, 
Thither,  as  leaves  to  the  light,  were  turned  her  thoughts  and  her 

footsteps. 

As  from  a  mountain's  top  the  rainy  mists  of  the  morning 
Roll  away,  and  afar  we  behold  the  landscape  below  us, 


416        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Sun-illumined,  with  shining  rivers  and  cities  and  hamlets, 

So  fell  the  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she  saw  the  world  far  below 

her, 

Dark  no  longer,  but  all  illumined  with  k>ve ;  and  the  pathway 
Which   she   had   climbed   so  far,  lying  smooth  and  fair  in  the 

distance. 

Gabriel  was  not  forgotten.    Within  her  heart  was  his  image, 
Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth,  as  last  she  beheld  him, 
Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his  deathlike  silence  and  absence. 
Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for  it  was  not. 
Over  him  years  had  no  power,  he  was  not  changed,  but  trans 
figured  ; 

He  had  become  to  her  heart  as  one  who  is  dead,  and  not  absent ; 
Patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  devotion  to  others, 
This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow  had  taught  her. 
So  was  her  love  diffused,  but,  like  to  some  odorous  spices, 
Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the  air  with  aroma. 
Other  hope  had  she  none,  nor  wish  in  life,  but  to  follow, 
Meekly  with  reverent  steps,  the  sacred  feet  of  her  Saviour. 
Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy  ;  frequenting 
Lonely  and  wretched  roofs  in  the  crowded  lanes  of  the  city, 
Where  distress  and  want  concealed  themselves  from  the  sunlight, 
Where  disease  and  sorrow  in  garrets  languished  neglected. 
Night  after  night  when  the  world  was  asleep,  as  the  watchman 

repeated 

Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,  that  all  was  well  in  the  city, 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of  her  taper. 
Day  after  day,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  slow  through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the  German  farmer,  with  flowers  and  fruits  for  the  market, 
Met  he  that  meek,  pale  face,  returning  home  from  its  watchings. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell  on  the  city, 
Presaged  by  wondrous  signs,  and  mostly  by  flocks  of  wild  pigeons, 
Darkening  the  sun  in  their  flight,  with  naught  in  their  craws  but 

an  acorn. 

And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month  of  September, 
Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till  it  spreads  to  a  lake  in  the  meadow, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  417 

So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'erfl owing  its  natural  margin, 
Spread  to  a  brackish  lake  the  silver  stream  of  existence. 
Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,  nor  beauty  to  charm,  the  oppressor ; 
But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scourge  of  his  anger ;  — 
Only,  alas  !  the  poor,  who  had  neither  friends  nor  attendants, 
Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of  the  homeless. 
Then   in   the   suburbs    it   stood,    in   the   midst   of  meadows   and 

woodlands  ;  — 

Now  the  city  surrounds  it ;  but  still,  with  its  gateway  and  wicket 
Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendor,  its  humble  walls  seem  to  echo 
Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord  :  —  lf  The  poor  ye  always  have  with 

you." 

Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the  Sister  of  Mercy.   The  dying 
Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  indeed,  to  behold  there 
Gleams  of  celestial  light  encircle  her  forehead  with  splendor, 
Such  as  the  artist  paints  o'er  the  brows  of  saints  and  apostles, 
Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at  a  distance. 
Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed  the  lamps  of  the  city  celestial, 
Into  whose  shining  gates  erelong  their  spirits  would  enter. 

Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  morn,  through  the  streets,  deserted  and 

silent, 

Wending  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door  of  the  almshouse. 
Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odor  of  flowers  in  the  garden, 
And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the  fairest  among  them, 
That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice  in  their  fragrance  and 

beauty. 
Then,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  corridors,  cooled  by  the 

east-wind, 
Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes  from  the  belfry  of 

Christ  Church, 

While,  intermingled  with  these,  across  the  meadows  were  wafted 
Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the  Swedes  in  their  church 

at  Wicaco. 

Soft  as  descending  wings  fell  the  calm  of  the  hour  on  her  spirit ; 
Something  within  her  said,  "  At  length  thy  trials  are  ended  ;  " 
And,  with  light  in  her  looks,  she  entered  the  chambers  of  sickness. 


418        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Noiselessly  moved  about  the  assiduous,  careful  attendants, 
Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  aching  brow,  and  in  silence 
Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  concealing  their  faces, 
Where  on  their  pallets  they  lay,  like  drifts  of  snow  by  the  roadside. 
Many  a  languid  head,  upraised  as  Evangeline  entered, 
Turned  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  while  she  passed,  for  her 

presence 

Fell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun  on  the  walls  of  a  prison. 
And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death,  the  consoler, 
Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed  it  forever. 
Many  familiar  forms  had  disappeared  in  the  night  time ; 
Vacant  their  places  were,  or  filled  already  by  strangers. 

Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling  of  wonder, 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colorless  lips  apart,  while  a  shudder 
Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flowerets  dropped  from 

her  fingers, 

And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light  and  bloom  of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such  terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from  their  pillows. 
On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form  of  an  old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks  that  shaded  his  temples ; 
But,  as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for  a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms  of  its  earlier  manhood ; 
So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who  are  dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of  the  fever, 
As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  besprinkled  its  portals, 
That  the  Angel  of  Death  might  see  the  sign,  and  pass  over. 
Motionless,  senseless,  dying,  he  lay,  and  his  spirit  exhausted 
Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  through  infinite  depths  in  the  darkness, 
Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  forever  sinking  and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multiplied  reverberations, 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush  that  succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and  saint-like, 
"  Gabriel !  O  my  beloved  !  "  and  died  away  into  silence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  dream,  once  more  the  home  of  his  childhood ; 
Green  Acadian  meadows,  with  sylvan  rivers  among  them, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  4^9 

Village,  and  mountain,  and  woodlands ;  and,  walking  under  their 

shadow, 

As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in  his  vision. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes  ;  and  as  slowly  he  lifted  his  eyelids, 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt  by  his  bedside. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the  accents  unuttered 
Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what  his  tongue  would 

have  spoken. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  rise  ;  and  Evangeline,  kneeling  beside  him, 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  bosom. 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes  ;  but  it  suddenly  sank  into  darkness, 
As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind  at  a  casement. 

All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and  the  sorrow, 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied  longing, 
All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of  patience ! 
And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  lifeless  head  to  her  bosom, 
Meekly  she  bowed  her  own,  and  murmured,  "  Father,  I  thank  thee ! " 


Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  far  away  from  its  shadow, 
Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves,  the  lovers  are  sleeping. 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic  churchyard, 
In  the  heart  of  the  city,  they  lie,  unknown  and  unnoticed. 
Daily  the  tides  of  life  go  ebbing  and  flowing  beside  them, 
Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where  theirs  are  at  rest  and  forever, 
Thousands  of  aching  brains,  where  theirs  no  longer  are  busy, 
Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have  ceased  from  their 

labors, 
Thousands  of  weary  feet,  where  theirs  have  completed  their  journey ! 

Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  under  the  shade  of  its 

branches 

Dwells  another  race,  with  other  customs  and  language. 
Only  along  the  shore  of  the  mournful  and  misty  Atlantic 
Linger  a  few  Acadian  peasants,  whose  fathers  from  exile 
Wandered  back  to  their  native  land  to  die  in  its  bosom. 


420        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  the  fisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and  the  loom  are  still  busy ; 
Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their  kirtles  of  homespun 
And  by  the  evening  fire  repeat  Evangeline's  story, 
While  from  its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced,  neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail  of  the  forest. 


THE  SONG  OF  HIAWATHA 

SELECTIONS 
INTRODUCTION 

Should  you  ask  me,  whence  these  stories  ? 

Whence  these  legends  and  traditions, 

With  the  odors  of  the  forest, 

With  the  dew  and  damp  of  meadows, 

With  the  curling  smoke  of  wigwams, 

With  the  rushing  of  great  rivers, 

With  their  frequent  repetitions, 

And  their  wild  reverberations, 

As  of  thunder  in  the  mountains  ? 

I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
"  From  the  forests  and  the  prairies, 
FYom  the  great  lakes  of  the  Northland, 
From  the  land  of  the  Ojibways, 
From  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 
FVom  the  mountains,  moors,  and  fen-lands, 
Where  the  heron,  the  Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Feeds  among  the  reeds  and  rushes. 
I  repeat  them  as  I  heard  them 
From  the  lips  of  Nawadaha, 
The  musician,  the  sweet  singer." 

Should  you  ask  where  Nawadaha 
Found  these  songs  so  wild  and  wayward, 
Found  these  legends  and  traditions, 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
"  In  the  bird's-nests  of  the  forest, 
In  the  lodges  of  the  beaver, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  421 

In  the  hoof -prints  of  the  bison, 
In  the  eyry  of  the  eagle  ! 

"  All  the  wild- fowl  sang  them  to  him, 
In  the  moorlands  and  the  fen-lands, 
In  the  melancholy  marshes  ; 
Chetowaik,  the  plover,  sang  them, 
Mahn,  the  loon,  the  wild  goose,  Wawa, 
The  blue  heron,  the  Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And  the  grouse,  the  Mushkodasa !  " 

If  still  further  you  should  ask  me, 
Saying,  "  Who  was  Nawadaha  ? 
Tell  us  of  this  Nawadaha," 
I  should  answer  your  inquiries 
Straightway  in  such  words  as  follow. 

"  In  the  Vale  of  Tawasentha, 
In  the  green  and  silent  valley, 
By  the  pleasant  water-courses, 
Dwelt  the  singer  Nawadaha. 
Round  about  the  Indian  village 
Spread  the  meadows  and  the  cornfields, 
And  beyond  them  stood  the  forest, 
Stood  the  groves  of  singing  pine-trees, 
Green  in  Summer,  white  in  Winter, 
Ever  sighing,  ever  singing. 

"  And  the  pleasant  water-courses, 
You  could  trace  them  through  the  valley, 
By  the  rushing  in  the  Spring-time, 
By  the  alders  in  the  Summer, 
By  the  white  fog  in  the  Autumn, 
By  the  black  line  in  the  Winter ; 
And  beside  them  dwelt  the  singer, 
In  the  vale  of  Tawasentha, 
In  the  green  and  silent  valley. 

"  There  he  sang  of  Hiawatha, 
Sang  the  Song  of  Hiawatha, 
Sang  his  wondrous  birth  and  being, 
How  he  prayed  and  how  he  fasted, 


422        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

How  he  lived,  and  toiled,  and  suffered, 
That  the  tribes  of  men  might  prosper, 
That  he  might  advance  his  people  !  " 

Ye  who  love  the  haunts  of  Nature, 
Love  the  sunshine  of  the  meadow, 
Love  the  shadow  of  the  forest, 
Love  the  wind  among  the  branches, 
And  the  rain-shower  and  the  snow-storm, 
And  the  rushing  of  great  rivers 
Through  their  palisades  of  pine-trees, 
And  the  thunder  in  the  mountains, 
Whose  innumerable  echoes 
Flap  like  eagles  in  their  eyries  ;  — 
Listen  to  these  wild  traditions, 
To  this  Song  of  Hiawatha  ! 

Ye  who  love  a  nation's  legends, 
Love  the  ballads  of  a  people, 
That  like  voices  from  afar  off 
Call  to  us  to  pause  and  listen, 
Speak  in  tones  so  plain  and  childlike, 
Scarcely  can  the  ear  distinguish 
Whether  they  are  sung  or  spoken  ;  — 
Listen  to  this  Indian  Legend, 
To  this  Song  of  Hiawatha ! 

Ye  whose  hearts  are  fresh  and  simple, 
Who  have  faith  in  God  and  Nature, 
Who  believe  that  in  all  ages 
Every  human  heart  is  human, 
That  in  even  savage  bosoms 
There  are  longings,  yearnings,  strivings 
For  the  good  they  comprehend  not, 
That  the  feeble  hands  and  helpless, 
Groping  blindly  in  the  darkness, 
Touch  God's  right  hand  in  that  darkness 
And  are  lifted  up  and  strengthened  ;  — 
Listen  to  this  simple  story, 
To  this  Song  of  Hiawatha ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  423 

Ye  who  sometimes,  in  your  rambles 
Through  the  green  lanes  of  the  country, 
Where  the  tangled  barberry-bushes 
Hang  their  tufts  of  crimson  berries 
Over  stone  walls  gray  with  mosses, 
Pause  by  some  neglected  graveyard, 
For  a  while  to  muse,  and  ponder 
On  a  half -effaced  inscription, 
Written  with  little  skill  of  song-craft, 
Homely  phrases,  but  each  letter 
Full  of  hope  and  yet  of  heart-break, 
Full  of  all  the  tender  pathos 
Of  the  Here  and  the  Hereafter ;  — 
Stay  and  read  this  rude  inscription, 
Read  this  Song  of  Hiawatha  ! 

in 

HIAWATHA'S  CHILDHOOD 

Downward  through  the  evening  twilight, 
In  the  days  that  are  forgotten, 
In  the  unremembered  ages, 
From  the  full  moon  fell  Nokomis, 
Fell  the  beautiful  Nokomis, 
She  a  wife  but  not  a  mother. 

She  was  sporting  with  her  women, 
Swinging  in  a  swing  of  grape-vines, 
When  her  rival,  the  rejected, 
Full  of  jealousy  and  hatred, 
Cut  the  leafy  swing  asunder, 
Cut  in  twain  the  twisted  grape-vines, 
And  Nokomis  fell  affrighted 
Downward  through  the  evening  twilight, 
On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow, 
On  the  prairie  full  of  blossoms. 
"  See  !.  a  star  falls  !  "  said  the  people ; 
"  From  the  sky  a  star  is  falling !  " 


424        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  among  the  ferns  and  mosses, 
There  among  the  prairie  lilies, 
On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow, 
In  the  moonlight  and  the  starlight, 
Fair  Nokomis  bore  a  daughter. 
And  she  called  her  name  Wenonah, 
As  the  first-born  of  her  daughters. 
And  the  daughter  of  Nokomis 
Grew  up  like  the  prairie  lilies, 
Grew  a  tall  and  slender  maiden, 
With  the  beauty  of  the  moonlight, 
With  the  beauty  of  the  starlight. 

And  Nokomis  warned  her  often, 
Saying  oft,  and  oft  repeating, 
"  Oh,  beware  of  Mudjekeewis, 
Of  the  West- Wind,  Mudjekeewis  ; 
Listen  not  to  what  he  tells  you  ; 
Lie  not  down  upon  the  meadow, 
Stoop  not  down  among  the  lilies, 
Lest  the  West-Wind  come  and  harm  you  !  " 

But  she  heeded  not  the  warning, 
Heeded  not  those  words  of  wisdom. 
And  the  West-Wind  came  at  evening, 
Walking  lightly  o'er  the  prairie, 
Whispering  to  the  leaves  and  blossoms, 
Bending  low  the  flowers  and  grasses, 
Found  the  beautiful  Wenonah, 
Lying  there  among  the  lilies, 
Wooed  her  with  his  words  of  sweetness, 
Wooed  her  with  his  soft  caresses, 
Till  she  bore  a  son  in  sorrow, 
Bore  a  son  of  love  and  sorrow. 

Thus  was  born  my  Hiawatha, 
Thus  was  born  the  child  of  wonder ; 
But  the  daughter  of  Nokomis, 
Hiawatha's  gentle  mother, 
In  her  anguish  died  deserted 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  425 

By  the  West-Wind,  false  and  faithless, 
By  the  heartless  Mudjekeewis. 

For  her  daughter,  long  and  loudly 
Wailed  and  wept  the  sad  Nokomis  ; 
"  Oh  that  I  were  dead !  "  she  murmured, 
"  Oh  that  I  were  dead,  as  thou  art ! 
No  more  work,  and  no  more  weeping, 
Wahonowin  !    Wahonowin  !  " 

By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gumee, 
By  the  shining  Big- Sea- Water, 
Stood  the  wigwam  of  Nokomis, 
Daughter  of  the  Moon,  Nokomis. 
Dark  behind  it  rose  the  forest, 
Rose  the  black  and  gloomy  pine-trees, 
Rose  the  firs  with  cones  upon  them ; 
Bright  before  it  beat  the  water,  , 
Beat  the  clear  and  sunny  water, 
Beat  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water. 

There  the  wrinkled  old  Nokomis 
Nursed  the  little  Hiawatha, 
Rocked  him  in  his  linden  cradle, 
Bedded  soft  in  moss  and  rushes, 
Safely  bound  with  reindeer  sinews  ; 
Stilled  his  fretful  wail  by  saying, 
"  Hush  !  the  Naked  Bear  will  hear  thee  !  " 
Lulled  him  into  slumber,  singing, 
"  Ewa-yea  !  my  little  owlet ! 
Who  is  this,  that  lights  the  wigwam  ? 
With  his  great  eyes  lights  the  wigwam  ? 
Ewa-yea  !  my  little  owlet !  " 

Many  things  Nokomis  taught  him 
Of  the  stars  that  shine  in  heaven  ; 
Showed  him  Ishkoodah,  the  comet, 
Ishkoodah,  with  fiery  tresses  ; 
Showed  the  Death-Dance  of  the  spirits, 
Warriors  with  their  plumes  and  war-clubs, 
Flaring  far  away  to  northward 


426        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

In  the  frosty  nights  of  Winter ; 
Showed  the  broad  white  road  in  heaven, 
Pathway  of  the  ghosts,  the  shadows, 
Running  straight  across  the  heavens, 
Crowded  with  the  ghosts,  the  shadows. 

At  the  door  on  summer  evenings 
Sat  the  little  Hiawatha  ; 
Heard  the  whispering  of  the  pine-trees, 
Heard  the  lapping  of  the  waters, 
Sounds  of  music,  words  of  wonder ; 
"  Minne-wawa  !  "  said  the  pine-trees. 
"  Mudway-aushka  !  "  said  the  water. 

Saw  the  fire-fly,  Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting  through  the  dusk  of  evening, 
With  the  twinkle  of  its  candle 
Lighting  up  the  brakes  and  bushes, 
And  he  sang  the  song  of  children, 
Sang  the  song  Nokomis  taught  him : 
"  Wah-wah-taysee,  little  fire-fly, 
Little,  flitting,  white-fire  insect, 
Little,  dancing,  white-fire  creature, 
Light  me  with  your  little  candle, 
Ere  upon  my  bed  I  lay  me, 
Ere  in  sleep  I  close  my  eyelids ! " 

Saw  the  moon  rise  from  the  water 
Rippling,  rounding  from  the  water, 
Saw  the  flecks  and  shadows  on  it, 
Whispered,  "  What  is  that,  Nokomis  ?  " 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered  : 
"  Once  a  warrior,  very  angry, 
Seized  his  grandmother,  and  threw  her 
Up  into  the  sky  at  midnight ; 
Right  against  the  moon  he  threw  her ; 
'T  is  her  body  that  you  see  there." 

Saw  the  rainbow  in  the  heaven, 
In  the  eastern  sky,  the  rainbow, 
Whispered,  "  What  is  that,  Nokomis  ?  " 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  427 

And  the  good  Nokomis  answered  : 

"  'T  is  the  heaven  of  flowers  you  see  there  ; 

All  the  wild-flowers  of  the  forest, 

All  the  lilies  of  the  prairie, 

When  on  earth  they  fade  and  perish, 

Blossom  in  that  heaven  above  us." 

When  he  heard  the  owls  at  midnight, 
Hooting,  laughing  in  the  forest, 
"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  cried  in  terror, 
"  What  is  that,"  he  said,  "  Nokomis  ?  " 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered  : 
"  That  is  but  the  owl  and  owlet, 
Talking  in  their  native  language, 
Talking,  scolding  at  each  other." 

Then  the  little  Hiawatha 
Learned  of  every  bird  its  language, 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  they  built  their  nests  in  Summer, 
Where  they  hid  themselves  in  Winter, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Chickens." 

Of  all  beasts  he  learned  the  language, 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  the  beavers  built  their  lodges, 
Where  the  squirrels  hid  their  acorns, 
How  the  reindeer  ran  so  swiftly, 
Why  the  rabbit  was  so  timid, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Brothers." 

Then  lagoo,  the  great  boaster, 
He  the  marvellous  story-teller, 
He  the  traveller  and  the  talker, 
He  the  friend  of  old  Nokomis, 
Made  a  bow  for  Hiawatha  ; 
From  a  branch  of  ash  he  made  it, 
From  an  oak-bough  made  the  arrows, 
Tipped  with  flint,  and  winged  with  feathers, 


428        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  the  cord  he  made  of  deer-skin. 

Then  he  said  to  Hiawatha  : 
"  Go,  my  son,  into  the  forest, 
Where  the  red  deer  herd  together, 
Kill  for  us  a  famous  roebuck, 
Kill  for  us  a  deer  with  antlers !  " 

Forth  into  the  forest  straightway 
All  alone  walked  Hiawatha  . 

Proudly,  with  his  bow  and  arrows  ; 
And  the  birds  sang  round  him,  o'er  him, 
"  Do  not  shoot  us,  Hiawatha  !  " 
Sang  the  robin,  the  Opechee, 
Sang  the  bluebird,  the  Owaissa, 
"  Do  not  shoot  us,  Hiawatha  !  " 

Up  the  oak-tree,  close  beside  him, 
Sprang  the  squirrel,  Adjidaumo, 
In  and  out  among  the  branches, 
Coughed  and  chattered  from  the  oak-tree, 
Laughed,  and  said  between  his  laughing, 
"  Do  not  shoot  me,  Hiawatha  !  " 

And  the  rabbit  from  his  pathway 
Leaped  aside,  and  at  a  distance 
Sat  erect  upon  his  haunches, 
Half  in  fear  and  half  in  frolic, 
Saying  to  the  little  hunter, 
"  Do  not  shoot  me,  Hiawatha  !  " 

But  he  heeded  not,  nor  heard  them, 
For  his  thoughts  were  with  the  red  deer 
On  their  tracks  his  eyes  were  fastened, 
Leading  downward  to  the  river, 
To  the  ford  across  the  river, 
And  as  one  in  slumber  walked  he. 

Hidden  in  the  alder-bushes, 
There  he  waited  till  the  deer  came, 
Till  he  saw  two  antlers  lifted, 
Saw  two  eyes  look  from  the  thicket, 
Saw  two  nostrils  point  to  windward, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  429 

And  a  deer  came  down  the  pathway, 
Flecked  with  leafy  light  and  shadow. 
And  his  heart  within  him  fluttered, 
Trembled  like  the  leaves  above  him, 
Like  the  birch-leaf  palpitated, 
As  the  deer  came  down  the  pathway. 

Then,  upon  one  knee  uprising, 
Hiawatha  aimed  an  arrow  ; 
Scarce  a  twig  moved  with  his  motion, 
Scarce  a  leaf  was  stirred  or  rustled, 
But  the  wary  roebuck  started, 
Stamped  with  all  his  hoofs  together, 
Listened  with  one  foot  uplifted, 
Leaped  as  if  to  meet  the  arrow ; 
Ah  !  the  singing,  fatal  arrow  ; 
Like  a  wasp  it  buzzed  and  stung  him  ! 

Dead  he  lay  there  in  the  forest, 
By  the  ford  across  the  river ; 
Beat  his  timid  heart  no  longer, 
But  the  heart  of  Hiawatha 
Throbbed  and  shouted  and  exulted, 
As  he  bore  t.he  red  deer  homeward, 
And  lagoo  and  Nokomis 
Hailed  his  coming  with  applauses. 

From  the  red  deer's  hide  Nokomis 
Made  a  cloak  for  Hiawatha, 
From  the  red  deer's  flesh  Nokomis 
Made  a  banquet  in  his  honor. 
All  the  village  came  and  feasted, 
All  the  guests  praised  Hiawatha, 
Called  him  Strong-Heart,  Soan-ge-taha ! 
Called  him  Loon-Heart,  Mahn-go-taysee ! 


430        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

xx 
THE  FAMINE 

O  the  long  and  dreary  Winter ! 
O  the  cold  and  cruel  Winter ! 
Ever  thicker,  thicker,  thicker 
Froze  the  ice  on  lake  and  river, 
Ever  deeper,  deeper,  deeper, 
Fell  the  snow  o'er  all  the  landscape, 
Fell  the  covering  snow,  and  drifted 
Through  the  forest,  round  the  village. 

Hardly  from  his  buried  wigwam 
Could  the  hunter  force  a  passage ; 
With  his  mittens  and  his  snow-shoes 
Vainly  walked  he  through  the  forest, 
Sought  for  bird  or  beast  and  found  none 
Saw  no  track  of  deer  or  rabbit, 
In  the  snow  beheld  no  footprints, 
In  the  ghastly,  gleaming  forest 
Fell,  and  could  not  rise  from  weakness, 
Perished  there  from  cold  and  hunger. 

O  the  famine  and  the  fever ! 
O  the  wasting  of  the  famine  ! 
O  the  blasting  of  the  fever ! 
O  the  wailing  of  the  children  ! 
O  the  anguish  of  the  women  ! 

All  the  earth  was  sick  and  famished  ; 
Hungry  was  the  air  around  them, 
Hungry  was  the  sky  above  them, 
And  the  hungry  stars  in  heaven 
Like  the  eyes  of  wolves  glared  at  them ! 

Into  Hiawatha's  wigwam 
Came  two  other  guests  as  silent 
As  the  ghosts  were,  and  as  gloomy, 
Waited  not  to  be  invited, 
Did  not  parley  at  the  doorway, 
Sat  there  without  word  of  welcome 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  431 

In  the  seat  of  Laughing  Water ; 
Looked  with  haggard  eyes  and  hollow 
At  the  face  of  Laughing  Water. 

And  the  foremost  said  :  "  Behold  me  ! 
I  am  Famine,  Bukadawin  !  " 
And  the  other  said  :  "  Behold  me  ! 
I  am  Fever,  Ahkosewin !  " 

And  the  lovely  Minnehaha 
Shuddered  as  they  looked  upon  her, 
Shuddered  at  the  words  they  uttered, 
Lay  down  on  her  bed  in  silence, 
Hid  her  face,  but  made  no  answer ; 
Lay  there  trembling,  freezing,  burning 
At  the  looks  they  cast  upon  her, 
At  the  fearful  words  they  uttered. 

Forth  into  the  empty  forest 
Rushed  the  maddened  Hiawatha ; 
In  his  heart  was  deadly  sorrow, 
In  his  face  a  stony  firmness ; 
On  his  brow  the  sweat  of  anguish 
Started,  but  it  froze  and  fell  not. 

Wrapped  in  furs  and  armed  for  hunting, 
With  his  mighty  bow  of  ash-tree, 
With  his  quiver  full  of  arrows, 
With  his  mittens,  Minjekahwun, 
Into  the  vast  and  vacant  forest 
On  his  snow-shoes  strode  he  forward. 
"  Gitche  Manito,  the  Mighty  !  " 
Cried  he  with  his  face  uplifted 
In  that  bitter  hour  of  anguish, 
"  Give  your  children  food,  O  father ! 
Give  us  food,  or  we  must  perish ! 
Give  me  food  for  Minnehaha, 
For  my  dying  Minnehaha  !  " 

Through  the  far-resounding  forest, 
Through  the  forest  vast  and  vacant 
Rang  that  cry  of  desolation, 


433        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But  there  came  no  other  answer 
Than  the  echo  of  his  crying, 
Than  the  echo  of  the  woodlands, 
"  Minnehaha  !  Minnehaha  !  " 

All  day  long  roved  Hiawatha 
In  that  melancholy  forest, 
Through  the  shadow  of  whose  thickets, 
In  the  pleasant  days  of  Summer, 
Of  that  ne'er  forgotten  Summer, 
He  had  brought  his  young  wife  homeward 
From  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs ; 
When  the  birds  sang  in  the  thickets, 
And  the  streamlets  laughed  and  glistened, 
And  the  air  was  full  of  fragrance, 
And  the  lovely  Laughing  Water 
Said  with  voice  that  did  not  tremble, 
"  I  will  follow  you,  my  husband  !  " 

In  the  wigwam  with  Nokomis, 
With  those  gloomy  guests  that  watched  her, 
With  the  Famine  and  the  Fever, 
She  was  lying,  the  Beloved, 
She  the  dying  Minnehaha. 

"  Hark  !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  hear  a  rushing, 
Hear  a  roaring  and  a  rushing, 
Hear  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  me  from  a  distance !  " 
"  No,  my  child  !  "  said  old  Nokomis, 
'  'T  is  the  night-wind  in  the  pine-trees !  " 

"Look!"  she  said;  "I  see  my  father 
Standing  lonely  at  his  doorway, 
Beckoning  to  me  from  his  wigwam, 
In  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs  ! " 
"No,  my  child!  "  said  old  Nokomis, 
*  'T  is  the  smoke,  that  waves  and  beckons  !  " 

"Ah!"  said  she,  "the  eyes  of  Pauguk 
Glare  upon  me  in  the  darkness, 
I  can  feel  his  icy  fingers 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  433 

Clasping  mine  amid  the  darkness  ! 
Hiawatha  !  Hiawatha  !  " 

And  the  desolate  Hiawatha, 
Far  away  amid  the  forest, 
Miles  away  among  the  mountains, 
Heard  that  sudden  cry  of  anguish, 
Heard  the  voice  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  him  in  the  darkness, 
"  Hiawatha  !  Hiawatha !  " 

Over  snow-fields  waste  and  pathless. 
Under  snow-encumbered  branches, 
Homeward  hurried  Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed,  heavy-hearted, 
Heard  Nokomis  moaning,  wailing  : 
"  Wahonowin  !  Wahonowin  ! 
Would  that  I  had  perished  for  you, 
Would  that  I  were  dead  as  you  are ! 
Wahonowin  !  Wahonowin  !  " 

And  he  rushed  into  the  wigwam, 
Saw  the  old  Nokomis  slowly 
Rocking  to  and  fro  and  moaning, 
Saw  his  lovely  Minnehaha 
Lying  dead  and  cold  before  him, 
And  his  bursting  heart  within  him 
Uttered  such  a  cry  of  anguish, 
That  the  forest  moaned  and  shuddered, 
That  the  very  stars  in  heaven 
Shook  and  trembled  with  his  anguish. 

Then  he  sat  down,  still  and  speechless, 
On  the  bed  of  Minnehaha, 
At  the  feet  of  Laughing  Water, 
At  those  willing  feet,  that  never 
More  would  lightly  run  to  meet  him, 
Never  more  would  lightly  follow. 

With  both  hands  his  face  he  covered. 
Seven  long  days  and  nights  he  sat  there, 
As  if  in  a  swoon  he  sat  there, 


434         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Speechless,  motionless,  unconscious 
Of  the  daylight  or  the  darkness. 

Then  they  buried  Minnehaha  ; 
In  the  snow  a  grave  they  made  her, 
In  the  forest  deep  and  darksome, 
Underneath  the  moaning  hemlocks  ; 
Clothed  her  in  her  richest  garments, 
Wrapped  her  in  her  robes  of  ermine, 
Covered  her  with  snow,  like  ermine ; 
Thus  they  buried  Minnehaha. 

And  at  night  a  fire  was  lighted, 
On  her  grave  four  times  was  kindled, 
For  her  soul  upon  its  journey 
To  the  Islands  of  the  Blessed. 
From  his  doorway  Hiawatha 
Saw  it  burning  in  the  forest, 
Lighting  up  the  gloomy  hemlocks  ; 
From  his  sleepless  bed  uprising, 
From  the  bed  of  Minnehaha, 
Stood  and  watched  it  at  the  doorway, 
That  it  might  not  be  extinguished, 
Might  not  leave  her  in  the  darkness. 

"  Farewell !  "  said  he,  "  Minnehaha  ! 
Farewell,  O  my  Laughing  Water ! 
All  my  heart  is  buried  with  you, 
All  my  thoughts  go  onward  with  you ! 
Come  not  back  again  to  labor, 
Come  not  back  again  to  suffer, 
Where  the  Famine  and  the  Fever 
Wear  the  heart  and  waste  the  body. 
Soon  my  task  will  be  completed, 
Soon  your  footsteps  I  shall  follow 
To  the  Islands  of  the  Blessed, 
To  the  Kingdom  of  Ponemah, 
To  the  Land  of  the  Hereafter!  " 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  435 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

[Born  at  Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  December  17,  1807;  died  at  Hampton 
Falls,  New  Hampshire,  September  7,  1892] 

PROEM 
WRITTEN  TO  INTRODUCE  THE  FIRST  GENERAL  COLLECTION  OF  HIS  POEMS 

I  love  the  old  melodious  lays 
Which  softly  melt  the  ages  through, 

The  songs  of  Spenser's  golden  days, 

Arcadian  Sidney's  silvery  phrase, 
Sprinkling  our  noon  of  time  with  freshest  morning  dew. 

Yet,  vainly  in  my  quiet  hours 
To  breathe  their  marvelous  notes  I  try ; 

I  feel  them,  as  the  leaves  and  flowers 

In  silence  feel  the  dewy  showers, 
And  drink  with  glad,  still  lips  the  blessing  of  the  sky. 

The  rigor  of  a  frozen  clime, 
The  harshness  of  an  untaught  ear, 

The  jarring  words  of  one  whose  rhyme 

Beat  often  Labor's  hurried  time, 
Or  Duty's  rugged  march  through  storm  and  strife,  are  here. 

Of  mystic  beauty,  dreamy  grace, 
No  rounded  art  the  lack  supplies  ; 

Unskilled  the  subtle  lines  to  trace, 

Or  softer  shades  of  Nature's  face, 
I  view  her  common  forms  with  unanointed  eyes. 

Nor  mine  the  seerlike  power  to  show 
The  secrets  of  the  heart  and  mind ; 

To  drop  the  plummet  line  below 

Our  common  world  of  joy  and  woe, 
A  more  intense  despair  or  brighter  hope  to  find. 


43^        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Yet  here  at  least  an  earnest  sense  . 
Of  human  right  and  weal  is  shown ; 

A  hate  of  tyranny  intense, 

And  hearty  in  its  vehemence, 
As  if  my  brother's  pain  and  sorrow  were  my  own. 

O  Freedom  !  if  to  me  belong 

Nor  mighty  Milton's  gift  divine, 

Nor  Marvell's  wit  and  graceful  song, 
Still  with  a  love  as  deep  and  strong 

As  theirs,  I  lay,  like  them,  my  best  gifts  on  thy  shrine ! 

THE  FAREWELL 

OF  A  VIRGINIA  SLAVE  MOTHER  TO  HER  DAUGHTERS  SOLD  INTO 
SOUTHERN  BONDAGE 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone. 

Where  the  slave-whip  ceaseless  swings, 

Where  the  noisome  insect  stings, 

Where  the  fever  demon  strews 

Poison  with  the  falling  dews, 

Where  the  sickly  sunbeams  glare 

Through  the  hot  and  misty  air,  - 
Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone, 
From  Virginia's  hills  and  waters ; 
Woe  is  me,  my  stolen  daughters ! 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone. 
There  no  mother's  eye  is  near  them, 
There  no  mother's  ear  can  hear  them ; 
Never,  when  the  torturing  lash 
Seams  their  back  with  many  a  gash, 
Shall  a  mother's  kindness  bless  them, 
Or  a  mother's  arms  caress  them. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  437 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone, 
From  Virginia's  hills  and  waters  ; 
Woe  is  me,  my  stolen  daughters ! 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 

To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone. 
O,  when  weary,  sad,  and  slow, 
From  the  fields  at  night  they  go, 
Faint  with  toil,  and  racked  with  pain, 
To  their  cheerless  homes  again, 
There  no  brother's  voice  shall  greet  them ; 
There  no  father's  welcome  meet  them. 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 

To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone, 

From  Virginia's  hills  and  waters  ; 

Woe  is  me,  my  stolen  daughters ! 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 

To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone. 
From  the  tree  whose  shadow  lay 
On  their  childhood's  place  of  play ; 
From  the  cool  spring  where  they  drank ; 
Rock,  and  hill,  and  rivulet  bank ; 
From  the  solemn  house  of  prayer, 
And  the  holy  counsels  there  ; 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 

To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone, 

From  Virginia's  hills  and  waters  ; 

Woe  is  me,  my  stolen  daughters ! 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 

To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone ; 
Toiling  through  the  weary  day, 
And  at  night  the  spoiler's  prey. 
Oh,  that  they  had  earlier  died, 
Sleeping  calmly,  side  by  side, 


438        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Where  the  tyrant's  power  is  o'er, 

And  the  fetter  galls  no  more ! 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone, 
From  Virginia's  hills  and  waters ; 
Woe  is  me,  my  stolen  daughters ! 

Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone. 

By  the  holy  love  He  beareth  ; 

By  the  bruised  reed  He  spareth ; 

Oh,  may  He,  to  whom  alone 

All  their  cruel  wrongs  are  known, 

Still  their  hope  and  refuge  prove, 

With  a  more  than  mother's  love. 
Gone,  gone,  —  sold  and  gone, 
To  the  rice  swamp  dank  and  lone, 
From  Virginia's  hills  and  waters ; 
Woe  is  me,  my  stolen  daughters ! 

ICHABOD 

WRITTEN  UPON  HEARING  THAT  DANIEL  WEBSTER  HAD  MADE  A  SPEECH 
IN  FAVOR  OF  THE  FUGITIVE  SLAVE  LAW 

So  fallen  !  so  lost !  the  light  withdrawn 

Which  once  he  wore  ! 
The  glory  from  his  gray  hairs  gone 

Forevermore ! 

Revile  him  not,  the  Tempter  hath 

A  snare  for  all ; 
And  pitying  eyes,  not  scorn  and  wrath, 

Befit  his  fall ! 

Oh  !  dumb  be  passion's  stormy  rage, 

When  he  who  might 
Have  lighted  up  and  led  his  age, 

Falls  back  in  night. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  439 

Scorn !  would  the  angels  laugh,  to  mark 

A  bright  soul  driven, 
Fiend-goaded,  down  the  endless  dark, 

From  hope  and  heaven ! 

Let  not  the  land,  once  proud  of  him, 

Insult  him  now, 
Nor  brand  with  deeper  shame  his  dim, 

Dishonored  brow. 

But  let  its  humbled  sons,  instead, 

From  sea  to  lake, 
A  long  lament,  as  for  the  dead, 

In  sadness  make. 

Of  all  we  loved  and  honored,  naught 

Save  power  remains ; 
A  fallen  angel's  pride  of  thought, 

Still  strong  in  chains. 

All  else  is  gone  ;  from  those  great  eyes 

The  soul  has  fled  : 
When  faith  is  lost,  when  honor  dies, 

The  man  is  dead  ! 

Then,  pay  the  reverence  of  old  days 

To  his  dead  fame  ; 
Walk  backward,  with  averted  gaze, 

And  hide  the  shame  ! 


SKIPPER  IRESON'S  RIDE 

Of  all  the  rides  since  the  birth  of  time, 
Told  in  story  or  sung  in  rhyme,  - 
On  Apuleius's  Golden  Ass, 
Or  one-eyed  Calendar's  horse  of  brass, 
Witch  astride  of  a  human  back, 
Islam's  prophet  on  Al-Borak,  — 


440        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  strangest  ride  that  ever  was  sped 
Was  Ireson's,  out  from  Marblehead  ! 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  ! 

Body  of  turkey,  head  of  owl, 
Wings  adroop  like  a  rained-on  fowl, 
Feathered  and  ruffled  in  every  part, 
Skipper  Ireson  stood  in  the  cart. 
Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 
Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue, 
Pushed  and  pulled  up  the  rocky  lane, 
Shouting  and  singing  the  shrill  refrain  : 
"  Here  's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  !  " 

Wrinkled  scolds  with  hands  on  hips, 

Girls  in  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips, 

Wild-eyed,  free-limbed,  such  as  chase 

Bacchus  round  some  antique  vase, 

Brief  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare, 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair, 

With  conch  shells  blowing  and  fish  horns'  twang, 

Over  and  over  the  Maenads  sang  : 

"  Here  's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  !  " 

Small  pity  for  him  !  —  He  sailed  away 
From  a  leaking  ship  in  Chaleur  Bay,  — 
Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 
With  his  own  town's  people  on  her  deck ! 
"  Lay  by  !  lay  by  !  "  they  called  to  him. 
Back  he  answered,  "  Sink  or  swim  ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  441 

Brag  of  your  catch  of  fish  again !  " 
And  off  he  sailed  through  the  fog  and  rain ! 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  ! 

Fathoms  deep  in  dark  Chaleur 

That  wreck  shall  lie  forevermore. 

Mother  and  sister,  wife  and  maid, 

Looked  from  the  rocks  of  Marblehead 

Over  the  moaning  and  rainy  sea,  — 

Looked  for  the  coming  that  might  not  be ! 

What  did  the  winds  and  the  sea  birds  say 

Of  the  cruel  captain  who  sailed  away  ?  — 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead. 

Through  the  street,  on  either  side, 

Up  flew  windows,  doors  swung  wide  ; 

Sharp-tongued  spinsters,  old  wives  gray, 

Treble  lent  the  fish  horn's  bray. 

Sea-worn  grandsires,  cripple-bound, 

Hulks  of  old  sailors  run  aground, 

Shook  head,  and  fist,  and  hat,  and  cane, 

And  cracked  with  curses  the  hoarse  refrain  : 
"  Here  's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  !  " 

Sweetly  along  the  Salem  road 

Bloom  of  orchard  and  lilac  showed. 

Little  the  wicked  skipper  knew 

Of  the  fields  so  green  and  the  skies  so  blue. 

Riding  there  in  his  sorry  trim, 

Like  an  Indian  idol  glum  and  grim, 


442         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Scarcely  he  seemed  the  sound  to  hear 

Of  voices  shouting,  far  and  near : 

"  Here  's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead  !  " 

"Hear  me,  neighbors  !  "  at  last  he  cried,  — 
"  What  to  me  is  this  noisy  ride  ? 
What  is  the  shame  that  clothes  the  skin 
To  the  nameless  horror  that  lives  within  ? 
Waking  or  sleeping,  I  see  a  wreck, 
And  hear  a  cry  from  a  reeling  deck ! 
Hate  me  and  curse  me,  —  I  only  dread 
The  hand  of  God  and  the  face  of  the  dead  !  " 
Said  old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  ! 

Then  the  wife  of  the  skipper  lost  at  sea 
Said,  "  God  has  touched  him  !    Why  should  we  !  " 
Said  an  old  wife  mourning  her  only  son, 
"  Cut  the  rogue's  tether  and  let  him  run !  " 
So  with  soft  relentings  and  rude  excuse, 
Half  scorn,  half  pity,  they  cut  him  loose, 
And  gave  him  a  cloak  to  hide  him  in, 
And  left  him  alone  with  his  shame  and  sin. 
Poor  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead  ! 

THE   BAREFOOT  BOY 

Blessings  on  thee,  little  man, 
Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan  ! 
With  thy  turned-up  pantaloons, 
And  thy  merry  whistled  tunes  ; 
With  thy  red  lip,  redder  still 
Kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  443 

With  the  sunshine  on  thy  face, 
Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace ; 
From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy,  — 
I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy ! 
Prince  thou  art,  —  the  grown-up  man 
Only  is  republican. 
Let  the  million-dollared  ride  ! 
Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side, 
Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy 
In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye,  — 
Outward  sunshine,  inward  joy  : 
Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy ! 

Oh  for  boyhood's  painless  play, 
Sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day, 
Health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules, 
Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools. 
Of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase, 
Of  the  wild-flower's  time  and  place, 
Flight  of  fowl  and  habitude 
Of  the  tenants  of  the  wood  ; 
How  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell, 
How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell, 
And  the  ground  mole  sinks  his  well ; 
How  the  robin  feeds  her  young, 
How  the  oriole's  nest  is  hung ; 
Where  the  whitest  lilies  blow, 
Where  the  freshest  berries  grow, 
Where  the  ground-nut  trails  its  vine, 
Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine ; 
Of  the  black  wasp's  cunning  way, 
Mason  of  his  walls  of  clay, 
And  the  architectural  plans 
Of  gray  hornet  artisans  ! 
For,  eschewing  books  and  tasks, 
Nature  answers  all  he  asks  ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks, 
Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks, 


444        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy,  — 
Blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy  ! 

Oh,  for  boyhood's  time  of  June, 

Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon, 

When  all  things  I  heard  or  saw 

Me,  their  master,  waited  for. 

I  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees, 

Humming-birds  and  honey-bees ; 

For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played, 

Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade ; 

For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 

Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone  ; 

Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight 

Through  the  day  and  through  the  night,  — 

Whispering  at  the  garden  wall, 

Talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall ; 

Mine  the  sand-rimmed  pickerel  pond, 

Mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond, 

Mine,  on  bending  orchard  trees, 

Apples  of  Hesperides ! 

Still  as  my  horizon  grew, 

Larger  grew  my  riches  too ; 

All  the  world  I  saw  or  knew 

Seemed  a  complex  Chinese  toy, 

Fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boy  ! 

Oh  for  festal  dainties  spread, 
Like  my  bowl  of  milk  and  bread ; 
Pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood, 
On  the  door-stone,  gray  and  rude  ! 
O'er  me,  like  a  regal  tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed,  the  sunset  bent, 
Purple-curtained,  fringed  with  gold, 
Looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold, 
While  for  music  came  the  play 
Of  the  pied  frogs'  orchestra  ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  445 

And,  to  light  the  noisy  choir, 
Lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire. 
I  was  monarch  :  pomp  and  joy 
Waited  on  the  barefoot  boy ! 

Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man, 
Live  and  laugh,  as  boyhood  can ! 
Though  the  flinty  slopes  be  hard, 
Stubble-speared  the  new-mown  sward, 
Every  morn  shall  lead  thee  through 
Fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew ; 
Every  evening  from  thy  feet 
Shall  the  cool  wind  kiss  the  heat : 
All  too  soon  these  feet  must  hide 
In  the  prison  cells  of  pride, 
Lose  the  freedom  of  the  sod, 
Like  the  colt's  for  work  be  shod, 
Made  to  tread  the  mills  of  toil, 
Up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil : 
Happy  if  their  track  be  found 
Never  on  forbidden  ground  ; 
Happy  if  they  sink  not  in 
Quick  and  treacherous  sands  of  sin. 
Ah  !  that  thou  couldst  know  thy  joy, 
Ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy  ! 


TELLING  THE   BEES 

Here  is  the  place  ;  right  over  the  hill 

Runs  the  path  I  took  ; 
You  can  see  the  gap  in  the  old  wall  still, 

And  the  stepping-stones  in  the  shallow  brook. 

There  is  the  house,  with  the  gate  red-barred, 

And  the  poplars  tall  ; 
And  the  barn's  brown  length,  and  the  cattle-yard, 

And  the  white  horns  tossing  above  the  wall. 


446        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

There  are  the  beehives  ranged  in  the  sun ; 

And  down  by  the  brink 
Of  the  brook  are  her  poor  flowers,  weed  o'errun, 

Pansy  and  daffodil,  rose  and  pink. 

A  year  has  gone,  as  the  tortoise  goes, 

Heavy  and  slow ; 
And  the  same  rose  blows,  and  the  same  sun  glows, 

And  the  same  brook  sings  of  a  year  ago. 

There  's  the  same  sweet  clover-smell  in  the  breeze ; 

And  the  June  sun  warm 
Tangles  his  wings  of  fire  in  the  trees, 

Setting,  as  then,  over  Fernside  farm. 

I  mind  me  how  with  a  lover's  care 

From  my  Sunday  coat 
I  brushed  off  the  burrs,  and  smoothed  my  hair, 

And  cooled  at  the  brookside  my  brow  and  throat 

Since  we  parted,  a  month  had  passed,  — 

To  love,  a  year  ; 
Down  through  the  beeches  I  looked  at  last 

On  the  little  red  gate  and  the  well-sweep  near. 

I  can  see  it  all  now,  —  the  slantwise  rain 

Of  light  through  the  leaves, 
The  sundown's  blaze  on  her  window-pane, 

The  bloom  of  her  roses  under  the  eaves. 

Just  the  same  as  a  month  before,  — 

The  house  and  the  trees, 
The  barn's  brown  gable,  the  vine  by  the  door,  — 

Nothing  changed  but  the  hive  of  bees. 

Before  them,  under  the  garden  wall, 

Forward  and  back, 
Went  drearily  singing  the  chore-girl  small, 

Draping  each  hive  with  a  shred  of  black. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  447 

Trembling,  I  listened :  the  summer  sun 

Had  the  chill  of  snow  ; 
For  I  knew  she  was  telling  the  bees  of  one 

Gone  on  the  journey  we  all  must  go ! 

Then  I  said  to  myself,  "  My  Mary  weeps 

For  the  dead  to-day  ; 
Haply  her  blind  old  grandsire  sleeps 

The  fret  and  the  pain  of  his  age  away." 

But  her  dog  whined  low ;  on  the  doorway  sill, 

With  his  cane  to  his  chin, 
The  old  man  sat ;  and  the  chore  girl  still 

Sang  to  the  bees  stealing  out  and  in. 

And  the  song  she  was  singing  ever  since 

In  my  ear  sounds  on  : 
"  Stay  at  home,  pretty  bees,  fly  not  hence  1 

Mistress  Mary  is  dead  and  gone !  " 


IN   SCHOOL-DAYS 

Still  sits  the  school-house  by  the  road, 
A  ragged  beggar  sleeping  ; 

Around  it  still  the  sumachs  grow, 
And  blackberry  vines  are  creeping. 

Within,  the  master's  desk  is  seen, 
Deep  scarred  by  raps  official ; 

The  warping  floor,  the  battered  seats, 
The  jack-knife's  carved  initial ; 

The  charcoal  frescos  on  its  wall ; 

Its  door's  worn  sill,  betraying 
The  feet  that,  creeping  slow  to  school, 

Went  storming  out  to  playing  ! 


448        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Long  years  ago  a  winter  sun 

Shone  over  it  at  setting ; 
Lit  up  its  western  window-panes, 

And  low  eaves'  icy  fretting, 

It  touched  the  tangled  golden  curls, 
And  brown  eyes  full  of  grieving, 

Of  one  who  still  her  steps  delayed 
When  all  the  school  were  leaving. 

For  near  her  stood  the  little  boy 

Her  childish  favor  singled  : 
His  cap  pulled  low  upon  a  face 

Where  pride  and  shame  were  mingled. 

Pushing  with  restless  feet  the  snow 
To  right  and  left,  he  lingered  ;  — 

As  restlessly  her  tiny  hands 

The  blue-checked  apron  fingered. 

He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes  ;  he  felt 
The  soft  hand's  light  caressing, 

And  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice, 
As  if  a  fault  confessing. 

"  I  'm  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word  : 

I  hate  to  go  above  you, 
Because,"  — the  brown  eyes  lower  fell,  — 

"  Because,  you  see,  I  love  you  !  " 

Still  memory  to  a  gray-haired  man 
That  sweet  child-face  is  showing. 

Dear  girl !  The  grasses  on  her  grave 
Have  forty  years  been  growing ! 

He  lives  to  learn,  in  life's  hard  school, 
How  few  who  pass  above  him 

Lament  their  triumph  and  his  loss, 
Like  her,  —  because  they  love  him. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  449 

THE  ETERNAL  GOODNESS 

0  friends  !  with  whom  my  feet  have  trod 
The  quiet  aisles  of  prayer, 

Glad  witness  to  your  zeal  for  God 
And  love  of  man  I  bear. 

1  trace  your  lines  of  argument ; 

Your  logic  linked  and  strong 
I  weigh  as  one  who  dreads  dissent, 
And  fears  a  doubt  as  wrong. 

But  still  my  human  hands  are  weak 

To  hold  your  iron  creeds  : 
Against  the  words  ye  bid  me  speak 

My  heart  within  me  pleads. 

Who  fathoms  the  Eternal  Thought  ? 

Who  talks  of  scheme  and  plan  ? 
The  Lord  is  God !    He  needeth  not 

The  poor  device  of  man. 

I  walk  with  bare,  hushed  feet  the  ground 

Ye  tread  with  boldness  shod ; 
I  dare  not  fix  with  mete  and  bound 

The  love  and  power  of  God. 

Ye  praise  His  justice  ;  even  such 

His  pitying  love  I  deem  : 
Ye  seek  a  king ;  I  fain  would  touch 

The  robe  that  hath  no  seam. 

Ye  see  the  curse  that  overbroods 

A  world  of  pain  and  loss ; 
I  hear  our  Lord's  beatitudes 

And  prayer  upon  the  cross. 


450        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

More  than  your  schoolmen  teach,  within 

Myself,  alas  !  I  know  : 
Too  dark  ye  cannot  paint  the  sin, 

Too  small  the  merit  show. 

I  bow  my  forehead  to  the  dust, 

I  veil  mine  eyes  for  shame, 
And  urge,  in  trembling  self -distrust, 

A  prayer  without  a  claim. 

I  see  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies, 

I  feel  the  guilt  within  ; 
I  hear,  with  groan  and  travail-cries, 

The  world  confess  its  sin. 

Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things, 
And  tossed  by  storms  and  flood, 

To  one  fixed  trust  my  spirit  clings ; 
I  know  that  God  is  good  ! 

Not  mine  to  look  where  cherubim 

And  seraphs  may  not  see, 
But  nothing  can  be  good  in  Him 

Which  evil  is  in  me. 

The  wrong  that  pains  my  soul  below 

I  dare  not  throne  above, 
I  know  not  of  His  hate,  —  I  know 

His  goodness  and  His  love. 

I  dimly  guess  from  blessings  known 

Of  greater  out  of  sight, 
And,  with  the  chastened  Psalmist,  own 

His  judgments  too  are  right. 

I  long  for  household  voices  gone, 

For  vanished  smiles  I  long, 
But  God  hath  led  my  dear  ones  on, 

And  He  can  do  no  wrong. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  451 

I  know  not  what  the  future  hath 

Of  marvel  or  surprise, 
Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 

His  mercy  underlies. 

And  if  my  heart  and  flesh  are  weak 

To  bear  an  untried  pain, 
The  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break, 

But  strengthen  and  sustain. 

No  offering  of  my  own  I  have, 

Nor  works  my  faith  to  prove  ; 
I  can  but  give  the  gifts  He  gave, 

And  plead  His  love  for  love. 

And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar ; 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 

On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care. 

O  brothers  !  if  my  faith  is  vain, 

If  hopes  like  these  betray, 
Pray  for  me  that  my  feet  may  gain 

The  sure  and  safer  way. 

And  Thou,  O  Lord  !  by  whom  are  seen 

Thy  creatures  as  they  be, 
Forgive  me  if  too  close  I  lean 

My  human  heart  on  Thee  ! 


452        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

LAUS  DEO! 

WRITTEN  ON  HEARING  THE  BELLS  RING  ON  THE  PASSING  OF  TI 
AMENDMENT  TO  THE  CONSTITUTION  ABOLISHING  SLAVERY 

It  is  done ! 

Clang  of  bell  and  roar  of  gun 
Send  the  tidings  up  and  down. 

How  the  belfries  rock  and  reel ! 

How  the  great  guns,  peal  on  peal, 
Fling  the  joy  from  town  to  town  ! 

Ring,  O  bells ! 
Every  stroke  exulting  tells 

Of  the  burial  hour  of  crime. 

Loud  and  long,  that  all  may  hear, 
Ring  for  every  listening  ear 

Of  Eternity  and  Time  ! 

Let  us  kneel  : 
God's  own  voice  is  in  that  peal, 

And  this  spot  is  holy  ground. 
Lord,  forgive  us  !    What  are  we, 
That  our  eyes  this  glory  see, 

That  our  ears  have  heard  the  sound ! 

For  the  Lord 
On  the  whirlwind  is  abroad  ; 

In  the  earthquake  he  has  spoken  ; 
He  has  smitten  with  His  thunder 
The  iron  walls  asunder, 

And  the  gates  of  brass  are  broken ! 

Loud  and  long    . 

Lift  the  old  exulting  song ; 
Sing  with  Miriam  by  the  sea, 

He  has  cast  the  mighty  down ; 

Horse  and  rider  sink  and  drown ; 
"  He  hath  triumphed  gloriously !  " 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  453 

Did  we  dare, 

In  our  agony  of  prayer, 
Ask  for  more  than  He  has  done  ? 

When  was  ever  His  right  hand 

Over  any  time  or  land 
Stretched  as  now  beneath  the  sun  ? 

How  they  pale, 

Ancient  myth  and  song  and  tale, 
In  this  wonder  of  our  days, 

When  the  cruel  rod  of  war 

Blossoms  white  with  righteous  law, 
And  the  wrath  of  man  is  praise ! 

Blotted  out ! 

All  within  and  all  about 
Shall  a  fresher  life  begin  ; 

Freer  breathe  the  universe 

As  it  rolls  its  heavy  curse 
On  the  dead  and  buried  sin ! 

It  is  done ! 

In  the  circuit  of  the  sun 
Shall  the  sound  thereof  go  forth. 

It  shall  bid  the  sad  rejoice, 

It  shall  give  the  dumb  a  voice, 
It  shall  belt  with  joy  the  earth  ! 

Ring  and  swing, 

Bells  of  joy  !    On  morning's  wing 
Send  the  sound  of  praise  abroad  ! 

With  a  sound  of  broken  chains 

Tell  the  nation  that  He  reigns, 
Who  alone  is  Lord  and  God ! 


454         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

MY  TRIUMPH 

The  autumn  time  has  come  ; 
On  woods  that  dream  of  bloom, 
And  over  purpling  vines, 
The  low  sun  fainter  shines. 

The  aster-flower  is  failing, 
The  hazel's  gold  is  paling ; 
Yet  overhead  more  near 
The  eternal  stars  appear ! 

And  present  gratitude 
Insures  the  future's  good, 
And  for  the  things  I  see 
I  trust  the  things  to  be ; 

That  in  the  paths  untrod, 
And  the  long  days  of  God, 
My  feet  shall  still  be  led, 
My  heart  be  comforted. 

O  living  friends  that  love  me ! 

0  dear  ones  gone  above  me  ! 
Careless  of  other  fame, 

1  leave  to  you  my  name. 

Hide  it  from  idle  praises, 

Save  it  from  evil  phrases  : 

Why,  when  dear  lips  that  spake  it 

Are  dumb,  should  strangers  wake  it  ? 

• 

Let  the  thick  curtain  fall ; 
I  better  know  than  all 
How  little  I  have  gained, 
How  vast  the  unattained. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  455 

Not  by  the  page  word-painted 
Let  life  be  banned  or  sainted : 
Deeper  than  written  scroll 
The  colors  of  the  soul. 

Sweeter  than  any  sung 

My  songs  that  found  no  tongue ; 

Nobler  than  any  fact 

My  wish  that  failed  of  act. 

Others  shall  sing  the  song, 
Others  shall  right  the  wrong, — 
Finish  what  I  begin, 
And  all  I  fail  of  win. 

What  matter,  I  or  they  ? 
Mine  or  another's  day, 
So  the  right  word  be  said 
And  life  the  sweeter  made  ? 

Hail  to  the  coming  singers  ! 
Hail  to  the  brave  light-bringers  ! 
Forward  I  reach  and  share 
All  that  they  sing  and  dare. 

The  airs  of  heaven  blow  o'er  me  ; 
A  glory  shines  before  me 
Of  what  mankind  shall  be,— 
Pure,  generous,  brave,  and  free. 

A  dream  of  man  and  woman 
Diviner  but  still  human, 
Solving  the  riddle  old, 
Shaping  the  Age  of  Gold  ! 

The  love  of  God  and  neighbor ; 
An  equal-handed  labor ; 
The  richer  life,  where  beauty 
Walks  hand  in  hand  with  duty. 


456        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Ring,  bells  in  unreared  steeples, 
The  joy  of  unborn  peoples  ! 
Sound,  trumpets  far  off  blown, 
Your  triumph  is  my  own  ! 

Parcel  and  part  of  all, 
I  keep  the  festival, 
Fore-reach  the  good  to  be, 
And  share  the  victory. 

I  feel  the  earth  move  sunward, 
I  join  the  great  march  onward, 
And  take,  by  faith,  while  living, 
My  freehold  of  thanksgiving. 


MY  PLAYMATE 

The  pines  were  dark  on  Ramoth  hill, 
Their  song  was  soft  and  low ; 

The  blossoms  in  the  sweet  May  wind 
Were  falling  like  the  snow. 

The  blossoms  drifted  at  our  feet, 
The  orchard  birds  sang  clear ; 

The  sweetest  and  the  saddest  day 
It  seemed  of  all  the  year. 

For,  more  to  me  than  birds  or  flowers, 
My  playmate  left  her  home, 

And  took  with  her  the  laughing  spring, 
The  music  and  the  bloom. 

She  kissed  the  lips  of  kith  and  kin, 
She  laid  her  hand  in  mine : 

What  more  could  ask  the  bashful  boy 
Who  fed  her  father's  kine  ? 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  457 

She  left  us  in  the  bloom  of  May : 

The  constant  years  told  o'er 
Their  seasons  with  as  sweet  May  morns, 

But  she  came  back  no  more. 

I  walk,  with  noiseless  feet,  the  round 

Of  uneventful  years ; 
Still  o'er  and  o'er  I  sow  the  spring 

And  reap  the  autumn  ears. 

She  lives  where  all  the  golden  year 

Her  summer  roses  blow  ; 
The  dusky  children  of  the  sun 

Before  her  come  and  go. 

There  haply  with  her  jewelled  hands 

She  smooths  her  silken  gown, — 
No  more  the  homespun  lap  wherein 

I  shook  the  walnuts  down. 

The  wild  grapes  wait  us  by  the  brook, 

The  brown  nuts  on  the  hill, 
And  still  the  May-day  flowers  make  sweet 

The  woods  of  Folly  mill. 

The  lilies  blossom  in  the  pond, 

The  bird  builds  in  the  tree, 
The  dark  pines  sing  on  Ramoth  hill 

The  slow  song  of  the  sea. 

I  wonder  if  she  thinks  of  them, 

And  how  the  old  time  seems, — 
If  ever  the  pines  of  Ramoth  wood 

Are  sounding  in  her  dreams. 

I  see  her  face,  I  hear  her  voice ; 

Does  she  remember  mine  ? 
And  what  to  her  is  now  the  boy 

Who  fed  her  father's  kine  ? 


458         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

What  cares  she  that  the  orioles  build 

For  other  eyes  than  ours,— 
That  other  hands  with  nuts  are  filled, 

And  other  laps  with  flowers  ? 

O  playmate  in  the  golden  time ! 

Our  mossy  seat  is  green, 
Its  fringing  violets  blossom  yet, 

The  old  trees  o'er  it  lean. 

The  winds  so  sweet  with  birch  and  fern 

A  sweeter  memory  blow  ; 
And  there  in  spring  the  veeries  sing 

The  song  of  long  ago. 

And  still  the  pines  of  Ramoth  wood 

Are  moaning  like  the  sea,— 
The  moaning  of  the  sea  of  change 

Between  myself  and  thee  ! 


SNOW-BOUND 
A  WINTER  IDYL 

"  As  the  Spirits  of  Darkness  be  stronger  in  the  dark,  so  good  Spirits  which 
be  Angels  of  Light  are  augmented  not  only  by  the  Divine  light  of  the  Sun,  but 
also  by  our  common  Wood  fire :  and  as  the  Celestial  Fire  drives  away  dark 
spirits,  so  also  this  our  Fire  of  Wood  doth  the  same."  —  COR.  AGRIPPA,  Occult 
Philosophy,  Book  I.  ch.  v. 

"  Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 
Arrives  the  snow ;  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight ;  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river  and  the  heaven, 
And  veils  the  farm-house  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveller  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  inclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm." 

EMERSON,  The  Snow-Storm 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  459 

The  sun  that  brief  December  day 
Rose  cheerless  over  hills  of  gray, 
And,  darkly  circled,  gave  at  noon 
A  sadder  light  than  waning  moon. 
Slow  tracing  down  the  thickening  sky 
Its  mute  and  ominous  prophecy, 
A  portent  seeming  less  than  threat, 
It  sank  from  sight  before  it  set. 
A  chill  no  coat,  however  stout, 
Of  homespun  stuff  could  quite  shut  out, 
A  hard,  dull  bitterness  of  cold, 

That  checked,  mid-vein,  the  circling  race 

Of  life-blood  in  the-  sharpened  face, 
The  coming  of  the  snow-storm  told. 
The  wind  blew  east ;  we  heard  the  roar 
Of  Ocean  on  his  wintry  shore, 
And  felt  the  strong  pulse  throbbing  there 
Beat  with  low  rhythm  our  inland  air. 

Meanwhile  we  did  our  nightly  chores,  — 
Brought  in  the  wood  from  out  of  doors, 
Littered  the  stalls,  and  from  the  mows 
Raked  down  the  herd's-grass  for  the  cows : 
Heard  the  horse  whinnying  for  his  corn ; 
And,  sharply  clashing  horn  on  horn, 
Impatient  down  the  stanchion  rows 
The  cattle  shake  their  walnut  bows ; 
While,  peering  from  his  early  perch 
Upon  the  scaffold's  pole  of  birch, 
The  cock  his  crested  helmet  bent 
And  down  his  querulous  challenge  sent. 

Unwarmed  by  any  sunset  light 
The  gray  day  darkened  into  night, 
A  night  made  hoary  with  the  swarm 
And  whirl-dance  of  the  blinding  storm, 


460        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

As  zigzag  wavering  to  and  fro 

Crossed  and  recrossed  the  winged  snow : 

And  ere  the  early  bedtime  came 

The  white  drift  piled  the  window-frame, 

And  through  the  glass  the  clothes-line  posts 

Looked  in  like  tall  and  sheeted  ghosts. 

So  all  night  long  the  storm  roared  on  : 

The  morning  broke  without  a  sun  ; 

In  tiny  spherule  traced  with  lines 

Of  Nature's  geometric  signs, 

In  starry  flake  and  pellicle 

All  day  the  hoary  meteor  fell ; 

And,  when  the  second  morning  shone, 

We  looked  upon  a  world  unknown, 

On  nothing  we  could  call  our  own. 

Around  the  glistening  wonder  bent 

The  blue  walls  of  the  firmament, 

No  cloud  above,  no  earth  below, — 

A  universe  of  sky  and  snow  ! 

The  old  familiar  sights  of  ours 

Took  marvellous  shapes  ;  strange  domes  and  towers 

Rose  up  where  sty  or  corn-crib  stood, 

Or  garden-wall,  or  belt  of  wood  ; 

A  smooth  white  mound  the  brush-pile  showed, 

A  fenceless  drift  what  once  was  road  ; 

The  bridle-post  an  old  man  sat 

With  loose-flung  coat  and  high  cocked  hat ; 

The  well-curb  had  a  Chinese  roof ; 

And  even  the  long  sweep,  high  aloof, 

In  its  slant  splendor,  seemed  to  tell 

Of  Pisa's  leaning  miracle. 

A  prompt,  decisive  man,  no  breath 
Our  father  wasted  :  "Boys,  a  path!  " 
Well  pleased,  (for  when  did  farmer  boy 
Count  such  a  summons  less  than  joy  ?) 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  461 

Our  buskins  on  our  feet  we  drew ; 

With  mittened  hands,  and  caps  drawn  low 
To  guard  our  necks  and  ears  from  snow, 

We  cut  the  solid  whiteness  through. 

And,  where  the  drift  was  deepest,  made 

A  tunnel  walled  and  overlaid 

With  dazzling  crystal :  we  had  read 

Of  rare  Aladdin's  wondrous  cave, 

And  to  our  own  his  name  we  gave, 

With  many  a  wish  the  luck  were  ours 

To  test  his  lamp's  supernal  powers. 

We  reached  the  barn  with  merry  din, 

And  roused  the  prisoned  brutes  within. 

The  old  horse  thrust  his  long  head  out, 

And  grave  with  wonder  gazed  about ; 

The  cock  his  lusty  greeting  said, 

And  forth  his  speckled  harem  led ; 

The  oxen  lashed  their  tails,  and  hooked, 

And  mild  reproach  of  hunger  looked ; 

The  horned  patriarch  of  the  sheep, 

Like  Egypt's  Amun  roused  from  sleep, 

Shook  his  sage  head  with  gesture  mute, 

And  emphasized  with  stamp  of  foot. 

All  day  the  gusty  north-wind  bore 
The  loosening  drift  its  breath  before ; 
Low  circling  round  its  southern  zone, 
The  sun  through  dazzling  snow-mist  shone, 
No  church-bell  lent  its  Christian  tone 
To  the  savage  air,  no  social  smoke 
Curled  over  woods  of  snow-hung  oak. 
A  solitude  made  more  intense 
By  dreary-voiced  elements, 
The  shrieking  of  the  mindless  wind, 
The  moaning  tree-boughs  swaying  blind, 
And  on  the  glass  the  unmeaning 
Of  ghostly  finger-tips  of  sleet. 


462        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Beyond  the  circle  of  our  hearth 
No  welcome  sound  of  toil  or  mirth 
Unbound  the  spell,  and  testified 
Of  human  life  and  thought  outside. 
We  minded  that  the  sharpest  ear 
The  buried  brooklet  could  not  hear, 
The  music  of  whose  liquid  lip 
Had  been  to  us  companionship, 
And,  in  our  lonely  life,  had  grown 
To  have  an  almost  human  tone. 

As  night  drew  on,  and,  from  the  crest 
Of  wooded  knolls  that  ridged  the  west, 
The  sun,  a  snow-blown  traveller,  sank 
From  sight  beneath  the  smothering  bank, 
We  piled  with  care  our  nightly  stack 
Of  wood  against  the  chimney-back,  — 
The  oaken  log,  green,  huge,  and  thick, 
And  on  its  top  the  stout  back-stick ; 
The  knotty  forestick  laid  apart, 
And  filled  between  with  curious  art 
The  ragged  brush  ;  then,  hovering  near, 
We  watched  the  first  red  blaze  appear, 
Heard  the  sharp  crackle,  caught  the  gleam 
On  whitewashed  wall  and  sagging  beam, 
Until  the  old,  rude-furnished  room 
Burst,  flower-like,  into  rosy  bloom  ; 
While  radiant  with  a  mimic  flame 
Outside  the  sparkling  drift  became, 
And  through  the  bare-boughed  lilac-tree 
Our  own  warm  hearth  seemed  blazing  free. 
The  crane  and  pendent  trammels  showed, 
The  Turk's  heads  on  the  andirons  glowed ; 
While  childish  fancy,  prompt  to  tell 
The  meaning  of  the  miracle, 
Whispered  the  old  rhyme :  "  Under  the  tree 
When  fire  outdoors  burns  merrily, 
There  the  witches  are  making  tea." 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  463 

The  moon  above  the  eastern  wood 
Shone  at  its  full ;  the  hill-range  stood 
Transfigured  in  the  silver  flood, 
Its  blown  snows  flashing  cold  and  keen, 
Dead  white,  save  where  some  sharp  ravine 
Took  shadow,  or  the  sombre  green 
Of  hemlocks  turned  to  pitchy  black 
Against  the  whiteness  of  their  back. 
For  such  a  world  and  such  a  night 
Most  fitting  that  unwarming  light, 
Which  only  seemed  where'er  it  fell 
To  make  the  coldness  visible. 

Shut  in  from  all  the  world  without, 
We  sat  the  clean-winged  hearth  about, 
Content  to  let  the  north-wind  roar 
In  baffled  rage  at  pane  and  door, 
While  the  red  logs  before  us  beat 
The  frost-line  back  with  tropic  heat ; 
And  ever,  when  a  louder  blast 
Shook  beam  and  rafter  as  it  passed, 
The  merrier  up  its  roaring  draught 
The  great  throat  of  the  chimney  laughed, 
The  house-dog  on  his  paws  outspread 
Laid  to  the  fire  his  drowsy  head, 
The  cat's  dark  silhouette  on  the  wall 
A  couchant  tiger's  seemed  to  fall ; 
And,  for  the  winter  fireside  meet, 
Between  the  andirons'  straddling  feet, 
The  mug  of  cider  simmered  slow, 
The  apples  sputtered  in  a  row, 
And,  close  at  hand,  the  basket  stood 
With  nuts  from  brown  October's  wood. 

What  matter  how  the  night  behaved  ? 
What  matter  how  the  north-wind  raved  ? 
Blow  high,  blow  low,  not  all  its  snow 
Could  quench  our  hearth-fire's  ruddy  glow. 


464        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

O  Time  and  Change  !  —  with  hair  as  gray 

As  was  my  sire's  that  winter  day, 

How  strange  it  seems,  with  so  much  gone 

Of  life  and  love,  to  still  live  on ! 

Ah,  brother !  only  I  and  thou 

Are  left  of  all  that  circle  now,  — 

The  dear  home  faces  whereupon 

That  fitful  firelight  paled  and  shone. 

Henceforward,  listen  as  we  will, 

The  voices  of  that  hearth  are  still ; 

Look  where  we  may,  the  wide  earth  o'er, 

Those  lighted  faces  smile  no  more. 

We  tread  the  paths  their  feet  have  worn, 

We  sit  beneath  their  orchard  trees, 

We  hear,  like  them,  the  hum  of  bees 
And  rustle  of  the  bladed  corn  ; 
We  turn  the  pages  that  they  read, 

Their  written  words  we  linger  o'er, 
But  in  the  sun  they  cast  no  shade, 
No  voice  is  heard,  no  sign  is  made, 

No  step  is  on  the  conscious  floor ! 
Yet  Love  will  dream  and  Faith  will  trust 
(Since  He  who  knows  our  need  is  just) 
That  somehow,  somewhere,  meet  we  must 
Alas  for  him  who  never  sees 
The  stars  shine  through  his  cypress-trees ! 
Who,  hopeless,  lays  his  dead  away, 
Nor  looks  to  see  the  breaking  day 
Across  the  mournful  marbles  play ! 
Who  hath  not  learned,  in  hours  of  faith, 

The  truth  to  flesh  and  sense  unknown, 
That  Life  is  ever  lord  of  Death, 

And  Love  can  never  lose  its  own ! 

We  sped  the  time  with  stories  old, 
Wrought  puzzles  out,  and  riddles  told, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  465 

Or  stammered  from  our  school-book  lore 
"  The  chief  of  Gambia's  golden  shore." 
How  often  since,  when  all  the  land 
Was  clay  in  Slavery's  shaping  hand, 
As  if  a  far-blown  trumpet  stirred 
The  languorous,  sin-sick  air,  I  heard  : 
"Does  not  the  voice  of  reason  cry, 

Claim  the  first  right  which  Nature  gave, 
From  the  red  scourge  of  bondage  fly, 

Nor  deign  to  live  a  burdened  slave  !  " 
Our  father  rode  again  his  ride 
On  Memphremagog's  wooded  side  ; 
Sat  down  again  to  moose  and  samp 
In  trapper's  hut  and  Indian  camp ; 
Lived  o'er  the  old  idyllic  ease 
Beneath  St.  Frangois'  hemlock-trees ; 
Again  for  him  the  moonlight  shone 
On  Norman  cap  and  bodiced  zone ; 
Again  he  heard  the  violin  play 
Which  led  the  village  dance  away, 
And  mingled  in  its  merry  whirl 
The  grandam  and  the  laughing  girl. 
Or,  nearer  home,  our  steps  he  led 
Where  Salisbury's  level  marshes  spread 
Mile-wide  as  flies  the  laden  bee  ; 

Where  merry  mowers,  hale  and  strong, 

Swept,  scythe  on  scythe,  their  swaths  along 
The  low  green  prairies  of  the  sea. 
We  shared  the  fishing  off  Boar's  Head, 

And  round  the  rocky  Isles  of  Shoals 

The  hake-broil  on  the  driftwood  coals ; 
The  chowder  on  the  sand-beach  made, 
Dipped  by  the  hungry,  steaming  hot, 
With  spoons  of  clam-shell  from  the  pot. 
We  heard  the  tales  of  witchcraft  old, 
And  dream  and  sign  and  marvel  told 


466        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

To  sleepy  listeners  as  they  lay 
Stretched  idly  on  the  salted  hay, 
Adrift  along  the  winding  shores, 

When  favoring  breezes  deigned  to  blow 
The  square  sail  of  the  gundelow, 
And  idle  lay  the  useless  oars. 

Our  mother,  while  she  turned  her  wheel 
Or  run  the  new-knit  stocking  heel, 
Told  how  the  Indian  hordes  came  down 
At  midnight  on  Cochecho  town, 
And  how  her  own  great-uncle  bore 
His  cruel  scalp-mark  to  fourscore. 
Recalling,  in  her  fitting  phrase, 
So  rich  and  picturesque  and  free 
(The  common  unrhymed  poetry 
Of  simple  life  and  country  ways), 
The  story  of  her  early  days,  — 
She  made  us  welcome  to  her  home ; 
Old  hearths  grew  wide  to  give  us  room ; 
We  stole  with  her  a  frightened  look 
At  the  gray  wizard's  conjuring-book, 
The  fame  whereof  went  far  and  wide 
Through  all  the  simple  country-side ; 
We  heard  the  hawks  at  twilight  play, 
The  boat-horn  on  Piscataqua, 
The  loon's  weird  laughter  far  away ; 
We  fished  her  little  trout-brook,  knew 
What  flowers  in  wood  and  meadow  grew, 
What  sunny  hillsides  autumn-brown 
She  climbed  to  shake  the  ripe  nuts  down, 
Saw  where  in  sheltered  cove  and  bay 
The  duck's  black  squadron  anchored  lay, 
And  heard  the  wild  geese  calling  loud 
Beneath  the  gray  November  cloud. 

Then,  haply,  with  a  look  more  grave, 
And  soberer  tone,  some  tale  she  gave 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  467 

From  painful  Sewel's  ancient  tome, 
Beloved  in  every  Quaker  home, 
Of  faith  fire-winged  by  martyrdom, 
Or  Chalkley's  Journal,  old  and  quaint,  — 
Gentlest  of  skippers,  rare  sea-saint !  — 
Who,  when  the  dreary  calms  prevailed, 
And  water-butt  and  bread-cask  failed, 

And  cruel,  hungry  eyes  pursued 
His  portly  presence,  mad  for  food, 
With  dark  hints  muttered  under  breath 
Of  casting  lots  for  life  or  death, 
Offered,  if  Heaven  withheld  supplies, 
To  be  himself  the  sacrifice. 
Then,  suddenly,  as.  if  to  save 
The  good  man  from  his  living  grave, 
A  ripple  on  the  water  grew, 
A  school  of  porpoise  flashed  in  view. 
"  Take,  eat,"  he  said,  "  and  be  content ; 
These  fishes  in  my  stead  are  sent 
By  Him  who  gave  the  tangled  ram 
To  spare  the  child  of  Abraham." 

Our  uncle,  innocent  of  books, 

Was  rich  in  lore  of  fields  and  brooks, 

The  ancient  teachers  never  dumb 

Of  Nature's  unhoused  lyceum. 

In  moons  and  tides  and  weather  wise, 

He  read  the  clouds  as  prophecies, 

And  foul  or  fair  could  well  divine, 

By  many  an  occult  hint  and  sign, 

Holding  the  cunning-warded  keys 

To  all  the  woodcraft  mysteries  ; 

Himself  to  Nature's  heart  so  near 

That  all  her  voices  in  his  ear 

Of  beast  or  bird  liad  meanings  clear, 

Like  Apollonius  of  old, 

Who  knew  the  tales  the  sparrows  told, 


468        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Or  Hermes,  who  interpreted 

What  the  sage  cranes  of  Nilus  said ; 

A  simple,  guileless,  childlike  man, 

Content  to  live  where  life  began ; 

Strong  only  on  his  native  grounds, 

The  little  world  of  sights  and  sounds 

Whose  girdle  was  the  parish  bounds, 

Whereof  his  fondly  partial  pride 

The  common  features  magnified, 

As  Surrey  hills  to  mountains  grew 

In  White  of  Selborne's  loving  view,  — - 

He  told  how  teal  and  loon  he  shot, 

And  how  the  eagle's  eggs  he  got, 

The  feats  on  pond  and  river  done, 

The  prodigies  of  rod  and  gun ; 

Till,  warming  with  the  tales  he  told, 

Forgotten  was  the  outside  cold, 

The  bitter  wind  unheeded  blew, 

From  ripening  corn  the  pigeons  flew, 

The  partridge  drummed  i'  the  wood,  the  mink 

Went  fishing  down  the  river-brink. 

In  fields  with  bean  or  clover  gay, 

The  woodchuck,  like  a  hermit  gray, 

Peered  from  the  doorway  of  his  cell ; 
The  muskrat  plied  the  mason's  trade, 
And  tier  by  tier  his  mud-walls  laid ; 
And  from  the  shagbark  overhead 

The  grizzled  squirrel  dropped  his  shell. 

Next,  the  dear  aunt,  whose  smile  of  cheer 
And  voice  in  dreams  I  see  and  hear,  — 
The  sweetest  woman  ever  Fate 
Perverse  denied  a  household  mate, 
Who,  lonely,  homeless,  not  the  less 
Found  peace  in  love's  ^unselfishness, 
And  welcome  whereso'er  she  went, 
A  calm  and  gracious  element, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  469 

Whose  presence  seemed  the  sweet  income 
And  womanly  atmosphere  of  home,  — 
Called  up  her  girlhood  memories, 
The  huskings  and  the  apple-bees, 
The  sleigh-rides  and  the  summer  sails, 
Weaving  through  all  the  poor  details 
And  homespun  warp  of  circumstance 
A  golden  woof-thread  of  romance. 
For  well  she  kept  her  genial  mood 
And  simple  faith  of  maidenhood  ; 
Before  her  still  a  cloud-land  lay, 
The  mirage  loomed  across  her  way ; 
The  morning  dew,  that  dried  so  soon 
With  others,  glistened  at  her  noon  ; 
Through  years  of  toil  and  soil  and  care, 
From  glossy  tress  to  thin  gray  hair, 
All  unprofaned  she  held  apart 
The  virgin  fancies  of  the  heart. 
Be  shame  to  him  of  woman  born 
Who  hath  for  such  but  thought  of  scorn. 

There,  too,  our  elder  sister  plied 

Her  evening  task  the  stand  beside ; 

A  full,  rich  nature,  free  to  trust, 

Truthful  and  almost  sternly  just, 

Impulsive,  earnest,  prompt  to  act, 

And  make  her  generous  thought  a  fact, 

Keeping  with  many  a  light  disguise 

The  secret  of  self-sacrifice. 

O  heart  sore-tried !  thou  hast  the  best 

That  Heaven  itself  could  give  thee,  —  rest, 

Rest  from  all  bitter  thoughts  and  things ! 

How  many  a  poor  one's  blessing  went 

With  thee  beneath  the  low  green  tent 
Whose  curtain  never  outward  swings  ! 

As  one  who  held  herself  a  part 
Of  all  she  saw,  and  let  her  heart 


47°         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Against  the  household  bosom  lean, 
Upon  the  motley-braided  mat 
Our  youngest  and  our  dearest  sat, 
Lifting  her  large,  sweet,  asking  eyes 

Now  bathed  within  the  fadeless  green 
And  holy  peace  of  Paradise. 
Oh,  looking  from  some  heavenly  hill, 

Or  from  the  shade  of  saintly  palms, 

Or  silver  reach  of  river  calms, 
Do  those  large  eyes  behold  me  still  ? 
With  me  one  little  year  ago  :  — 
The  chill  weight  of  the  winter  snow 

For  months  upon  her  grave  has  lain ; 
And  now,  when  summer  south-winds  blow 

And  brier  and  harebell  bloom  again, 
I  tread  the  pleasant  paths  we  trod, 
I  see  the  violet-sprinkled  sod, 
Whereon  she  leaned,  too  frail  and  weak 
The  hillside  flowers  she  loved  to  seek, 
Yet  following  me  where'er  I  went 
With  dark  eyes  full  of  love's  content. 
The  birds  are  glad  ;  the  brier-rose  fills 
The  air  with  sweetness  ;  all  the  hills 
Stretch  green  to  June's  unclouded  sky ; 
But  still  I  wait  with  ear  and  eye 
For  something  gone  which  should  be  nigh, 
A  loss  in  all  familiar  things, 
In  flower  that  blooms,  and  bird  that  sings. 
And  yet,  dear  heart !  remembering  thee, 

Am  I  not  richer  than  of  old  ? 
Safe  in  thy  immortality, 

What  change  can  reach  the  wealth  I  hold  ? 

What  chance  can  mar  the  pearl  and  gold 
Thy  love  hath  left  in  trust  with  me  ? 
And  while  in  life's  late  afternoon, 

Where  cool  and  long  the  shadows  grow, 
I  walk  to  meet  the  night  that  soon 

Shall  shape  and  shadow  overflow, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  47* 

I  cannot  feel  that  thou  art  far, 
Since  near  at  need  the  angels  are, 
And  when  the  sunset  gates  unbar, 

Shall  I  not  see  thee  waiting  stand, 
And,  white  against  the  evening  star, 

The  welcome  of  thy  beckoning  hand  ? 


Brisk  wielder  of  the  birch  and  rule, 
The  master  of  the  district  school 
Held  at  the  fire  his  favored  place ; 
Its  warm  glow  lit  a  laughing  face 
Fresh-hued  and  fair,  where  scarce  appeared 
The  uncertain  prophecy  of  beard. 
He  teased  the  mitten-blinded  cat, 
Played  cross-pins  on  my  uncle's  hat, 
Sang  songs,  and  told  us  what  befalls 
In  classic  Dartmouth's  college  halls. 
Born  the  wild  Northern  hills  among, 
From  whence  his  yeoman  father  wrung 
By  patient  toil  subsistence  scant, 
Not  competence  and  yet  not  want, 
He  early  gained  the  power  to  pay 
His  cheerful,  self-reliant  way  ; 
Could  doff  at  ease  his  scholar's  gown 
To  peddle  wares  from  town  to  town  ; 
Or  through  the  long  vacation's  reach 
In  lonely  lowland  districts  teach, 
Where  all  the  droll  experience  found 
At  stranger  hearths  in  boarding  round, 
The  moonlit  skater's  keen  delight, 
The  sleigh-drive  through  the  frosty  night, 
The  rustic  party,  with  its  rough 
Accompaniment  of  blind-man's-buff, 
And  whirling  plate,  and  forfeits  paid, 
His  winter  task  a  pastime  made. 
Happy  the  snow-locked  homes  wherein 
He  tuned  his  merry  violin, 


4/2         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Or  played  the  athlete  in  the  barn, 
Or  held  the  good  dame's  winding  yarn, 
Or  mirth-provoking  versions  told 
Of  classic  legends  rare  and  old, 
Wherein  the  scenes  of  Greece  and  Rome 
Had  all  the  commonplace  of  home, 
And  little  seemed  at  best  the  odds 
'Twixt  Yankee  pedlers  and  old  gods  ; 
Where  Pindus-born  Arachthus  took 
The  guise  of  any  grist-mill  brook, 
And  dread  Olympus  at  his  will 
Became  a  huckleberry  hill. 

A  careless  boy  that  night  he  seemed  ; 

But  at  his  desk  he  had  the  look 
And  air  of  one  who  wisely  schemed, 
And  hostage  from  the  future  took 
In  trained  thought  and  lore  of  book. 
Large-brained,  clear-eyed,  —  of  such  as  he 
Shall  Freedom's  young  apostles  be, 
Who,  following  in  War's  bloody  trail, 
Shall  every  lingering  wrong  assail ; 
All  chains  from  limb  and  spirit  strike, 
Uplift  the  black  and  white  alike ; 
Scatter  before  their  swift  advance 
The  darkness  and  the  ignorance, 
The  pride,  the  lust,  the  squalid  sloth, 
Which  nurtured  Treason's  monstrous  growth, 
Made  murder  pastime,  and  the  hell 
Of  prison-torture  possible ; 
The  cruel  lie  of  caste  refute, 
Old  forms  remould,  and  substitute 
For  Slavery's  lash  the  freeman's  will, 
For  blind  routine,  wise-handed  skill ; 
A  school-house  plant  on  every  hill, 
Stretching  in  radiate  nerve-lines  thence 
The  quick  wires  of  intelligence ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  473 

Till  North  and  South  together  brought 
Shall  own  the  same  electric  thought, 
In  peace  a  common  flag  salute, 

And,  side  by  side  in  labor's  free 

And  unresentful  rivalry, 
Harvest  the  fields  wherein  they  fought. 

Another  guest  that  winter  night 

Flashed  back  from  lustrous  eyes  the  light. 

Unmarked  by  time,  and  yet  not  young, 

The  honeyed  music  of  her  tongue 

And  words  of  meekness  scarcely  told 

A  nature  passionate  and  bold, 

Strong,  self-concentred,  spurning  guide, 

Its  milder  features  dwarfed  beside 

Her  unbent  will's  majestic  pride. 

She  sat  among  us  at  the  best, 

A  not  unfeared,  half-welcome  guest, 

Rebuking  with  her  cultured  phrase 

Our  homeliness  of  words  and  ways. 

A  certain  pard-like,  treacherous  grace 

Swayed  the,  lithe  limbs  and  dropped  the  lash, 

Lent  the  white  teeth  their  dazzling  flash  ; 

And  under  low  brows,  black  with  night, 

Rayed  out  at  times  a  dangerous  light ; 
The  sharp  heat-lightnings  of  her  face 
Presaging  ill  to  him  whom  Fate 
Condemned  to  share  her  love  or  hate. 

A  woman  tropical,  intense 

In  thought  and  act,  in  soul  and  sense, 

She  blended  in  a  like  degree 

The  vixen  and  the  devotee, 

Revealing  with  each  freak  or  feint 
The  temper  of  Petruchio's  Kate, 

The  raptures  of  Siena's  saint. 
Her  tapering  hand  and  rounded  wrist 
Had  facile  power  to  form  a  fist ; 


474        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  warm,  dark  languish  of  her  eyes 
Was  never  safe  from  wrath's  surprise. 
Brows  saintly  calm  and  lips  devout 
Knew  every  change  of  scowl  and  pout ; 
And  the  sweet  voice  had  notes  more  high 
And  shrill  for  social  battle-cry. 

Since  then  what  old  cathedral  town 

Has  missed  her  pilgrim  staff  and  gown, 

What  convent-gate  has  held  its  lock 

Against  the  challenge  of  her  knock ! 

Through  Smyrna's  plague-hushed  thoroughfares, 

Up  sea-set  Malta's  rocky  stairs, 

Gray  olive  slopes  of  hills  that  hem 

Thy  tombs  and  shrines,  Jerusalem, 

Or  startling  on  her  desert  throne 

The  crazy  Queen  of  Lebanon 

With  claims  fantastic  as  her  own, 

Her  tireless  feet  have  held  their  way  ; 

And  still,  unrestful,  bowed,  and  gray, 

She  watches  under  Eastern  skies, 

With  hope  each  day  renewed  and  fresh, 
The  Lord's  quick  coming  in  the  flesh, 
Whereof  she  dreams  and  prophesies  ! 

Where'er  her  troubled  path  may  be, 
The  Lord's  sweet  pity  with  her  go ! 

The  outward  wayward  life  we  see, 

The  hidden  springs  we  may  not  know. 

Nor  is  it  given  us  to  discern 

What  threads  the  fatal  sisters  spun, 
Through  what  ancestral  years  has  run 

The  sorrow  with  the  woman  born, 

What  forged  her  cruel  chain  of  moods, 

What  set  her  feet  in  solitudes, 

And  held  the  love  within  her  mute, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  475 

What  mingled  madness  in  the  blood, 

A  lifelong  discord  and  annoy, 

Water  of  tears  with  oil  of  joy, 
And  hid  within  the  folded  bud 

Perversities  of  flower  and  fruit. 
It  is  not  ours  to  separate 
The  tangled  skein  of  will  and  fate, 
To  show  what  metes  and  bounds  should  stand 
Upon  the  soul's  debatable  land, 
And  between  choice  and  Providence 
Divide  the  circle  of  events  ; 

But  He  who  knows  our  frame  is  just, 
Merciful  and  compassionate, 
And  full  of  sweet  assurances 
And  hope  for  all  the  language  is, 

That  He  remembereth  we  are  dust ! 

At  last  the  great  logs,  crumbling  low, 
Sent  out  a  dull  and  duller  glow, 
The  bull's-eye  watch  that  hung  in  view, 
Ticking  its  weary  circuit  through, 
Pointed  with  mutely-warning  sign 
Its  black  hand  to  the  hour  of  nine. 
That  sign  the  pleasant  circle  broke : 
My  uncle  ceased  his  pipe  to  smoke, 
Knocked  from  its  bowl  the  refuse  gray, 
And  laid  it  tenderly  away, 
Then  roused  himself  to  safely  cover 
The  dull  red  brand  with  ashes  over. 
And  while,  with  care,  our  mother  laid 
The  work  aside,  her  steps  she  stayed 
One  moment,  seeking  to  express 
Her  grateful  sense  of  happiness 
For  food  and  shelter,  warmth  and  health, 
And  love's  contentment  more  than  wealth, 
With  simple  wishes  (not  the  weak, 
Vain  prayers  which  no  fulfilment  seek, 


4/6        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But  such  as  warm  the  generous  heart, 
O'er-prompt  to  do  with  Heaven  its  part) 
That  none  might  lack,  that  bitter  night, 
For  bread  and  clothing,  warmth  and  light. 


Within  our  beds  awhile  we  heard 
The  wind  that  round  the  gables  roared, 
With  now  and  then  a  ruder  shock, 
Which  made  our  very  bedsteads  rock. 
We  heard  the  loosened  clapboards  tost, 
The  board-nails  snapping  in  the  frost ; 
And  on  us,  through  the  unplastered  wall, 
Felt  the  light  sifted  snow-flakes  fall, 
But  sleep  stole  on,  as  sleep  will  do 
When  hearts  are  light  and  life  is  new ; 
Faint  and  more  faint  the  murmurs  grew, 
Till  in  the  summer-land  of  dreams 
They  softened  to  the  sound  of  streams, 
Low  stir  of  leaves,  and  dip  of  oars, 
And  lapsing  waves  on  quiet  shores. 

Next  morn  we  wakened  with  the  shout 
Of  merry  voices  high  and  clear ; 
And  saw  the  teamsters  drawing  near 

To  break  the  drifted  highways  out. 

Down  the  long  hillside  treading  slow 

We  saw  the  half-buried  oxen  go, 

Shaking  the  snow  from  heads  uptost, 

Their  straining  nostrils  white  with  frost. 

Before  our  door  the  straggling  train 

Drew  up,  an  added  team  to  gain. 

The  elders  threshed  their  hands  a-cold, 
Passed,  with  the  cider-mug,  their  jokes 
From  lip  to  lip  ;  the  younger  folks 

Down  the  loose  snow-banks,  wrestling,  rolled, 

Then  toiled  again  the  cavalcade 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  477 

O'er  windy  hill,  through  clogged  ravine, 
And  woodland  paths  that  wound  between 

Low  drooping  pine-boughs  winter-weighed. 

From  every  barn  a  team  afoot, 

At  every  house  a  new  recruit, 

Where,  drawn  by  Nature's  subtlest  law, 

Haply  the  watchful  young  men  saw 

Sweet  doorway  pictures  of  the  curls 

And  curious  eyes  of  merry  girls, 

Lifting  their  hands  in  mock  defence 

Against  the  snow-balls'  compliments, 

And  reading  in  each  missive  tost 

The  charm  with  Eden  never  lost. 

We  heard  once  more  the  sleigh-bells'  sound ; 

And,  following  where  the  teamsters  led, 
The  wise  old  Doctor  went  his  round, 
Just  pausing  at  our  door  to  say 
In  the  brief  autocratic  way 
Of  one  who,  prompt  at  Duty's  call, 
Was  free  to  urge  her  claim  on  all, 

That  some  poor  neighbor  sick  abed 
At  night  our  mother's  aid  would  need. 
For,  one  in  generous  thought  and  deed, 

What  mattered  in  the  sufferer's  sight 

The  Quaker  matron's  inward  light, 
The  Doctor's  mail  of  Calvin's  creed  ? 
All  hearts  confess  the  saints  elect 

Who,  twain  in  faith,  in  love  agree, 
And  melt  not  in  an  acid  sect 

The  Christian  pearl  of  charity ! 

So  days  went  on  :  a  week  had  passed 

Since  the  great  world  was  heard  from  last. 

The  Almanac  we  studied  o'er, 

Read  and  reread  our  little  store 

Of  books  and  pamphlets,  scarce  a  score ; 


4/8        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

One  harmless  novel,  mostly  hid 

From  younger  eyes,  a  book  forbid, 

And  poetry,  (or  good  or  bad, 

A  single  book  was  all  we  had,) 

Where  Ell  wood's  meek,  drab-skirted  Muse, 

A  stranger  to  the  heathen  Nine, 

Sang,  with  a  somewhat  nasal  whine, 
The  wars  of  David  and  the  Jews. 
At  last  the  floundering  carrier  bore 
The  village  paper  to  our  door. 
Lo  !  broadening  outward  as  we  read, 
To  warmer  zones  the  horizon  spread ; 
In  panoramic  length  unrolled 
We  saw  the  marvels  that  it  told. 
Before  us  passed  the  painted  Creeks, 

And  daft  McGregor  on  his  raids 

In  Costa  Rica's  everglades. 

And  up  Taygetus  winding  slow 
Rode  Ypsilanti's  Mainote  Greeks, 

A  Turk's  head  at  each  saddle  bow ! 
Welcome  to  us  its  week  old  news, 
Its  corner  for  the  rustic  Muse, 

Its  monthly  gauge  of  snow  and  rain, 
Its  record,  mingling  in  a  breath 
The  wedding  knell  and  dirge  of  death  ; 
Jest,  anecdote,  and  love-lorn  tale, 
The  latest  culprit  sent  to  jail ; 
Its  hue  and  cry  of  stolen  and  lost, 
Its  vendue  sales  and  goods  at  cost, 

And  traffic  calling  loud  for  gain. 
We  felt  the  stir  of  hall  and  street, 
The  pulse  of  life  that  round  us  beat ; 
The  chill  embargo  of  the  snow 
Was  melted  in  the  genial  glow ; 
Wide  swung  again  our  ice-locked  door, 
And  all  the  world  was  ours  once  more ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  4/9 

Clasp,  Angel  of  the  backward  look 

And  folded  wings  of  ashen  gray 

And  voice  of  echoes  far  away, 
The  brazen  covers  of  thy  book ; 
The  weird  palimpsest  old  and  vast, 
Wherein  thou  hid'st  the  spectral  past ; 
Where,  closely  mingling,  pale  and  glow 
The  characters  of  joy  and  woe  ; 
The  monographs  of  outlived  years, 
Or  smile-illumed  or  dim  with  tears, 
Green  hills  of  life  that  slope  to  death, 

And  haunts  of  home,  whose  vistaed  trees 

Shade  off  to  mournful  cypresses 
With  the  white  amaranths  underneath. 
Even  while  I  look,  I  can  but  heed 

The  restless  sands'  incessant  fall, 
Importunate  hours  that  hours  succeed, 
Each  clamorous  with  its  own  sharp  need, 

And  duty  keeping  pace  with  all. 
Shut  down  and  clasp  the  heavy  lids ; 
I  hear  again  the  voice  that  bids 
The  dreamer  leave  his  dream  midway 

For  larger  hopes  and  graver  fears  : 

Life  greatens  in  these  later  years, 
The  century's  aloe  flowers  to-day ! 


Yet,  haply,  in  some  lull  of  life, 

Some  Truce  of  God  which  breaks  its  strife, 

The  worldling's  eyes  shall  gather  dew, 

Dreaming  in  throngful  city  ways 
Of  winter  joys  his  boyhood  knew ; 
And  dear  and  early  friends  —  the  few 
Who  yet  remain  —  shall  pause  to  view 

These  Flemish  pictures  of  old  days ; 
Sit  with  me  by  the  homestead  hearth, 


480        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  stretch  the  hands  of  memory  forth 

To  warm  them  at  the  wood-fire's  blaze ! 
And  thanks  untraced  to  lips  unknown 
Shall  greet  me  like  the  odors  blown 
From  unseen  meadows  newly  mown, 
Or  lilies  floating  in  some  pond, 
Wood-fringed,  the  wayside  gaze  beyond ; 
The  traveller  owns  the  grateful  sense 
Of  sweetness  near,  he  knows  not  whence, 
And,  pausing,  takes  with  forehead  bare 
The  benediction  of  the  air. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

[Born  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  August  29,  1809;  died  at  Cambridge, 

October  7,  1 894] 

OLD   IRONSIDES 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar  ;  — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 


Her  decks,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ;  — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  481 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave  ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave ; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale ! 

THE  LAST  LEAF 

I  saw  him  once  before, 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 

The  pavement  stones  resound, 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knif e  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  Crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad  and  wan, 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 
On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom, 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 


482         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

My  grandmamma  has  said  — 
Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 

Long  ago  — 

That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow ; 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff, 

And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here  ;  . 

But  the  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring, 

Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 


THE  BOYS 
1859 

Has  there  any  old  fellow  got  mixed  with  the  boys  ? 
If  there  has,  take  him  out,  without  making  a  noise. 
Hang  the  Almanac's  cheat  and  the  Catalogue's  spite 
Old  time  is  a  liar  !    We  're  twenty  to-night ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  483 

We  're  twenty !    We  're  twenty  !    Who  says  we  are  more  ? 
He  's  tipsy,  — young  jackanapes  !  —  show  him  the  door  ! 
"  Gray  temples  at  twenty  ?  "    -Yes  !  white  if  we  please  ! 
Where  the  snow-flakes  fall  thickest  there  's  nothing  can  freeze ! 

Was  it  snowing  I  spoke  of  ?    Excuse  the  mistake  ! 
Look  close,  —  you  will  not  see  a  sign  of  a  flake  ! 
We  want  some  new  garlands  for  those  we  have  shed,  — 
And  these  are  white  roses  in  place  of  the  red. 

We  've  a  trick,  we  young  fellows,  you  may  have  been  told, 
Of  talking  (in  public)  as  if  we  were  old  :  — 
That  boy  we  call  "  Doctor,"  and  this  we  call  "  Judge  "  ; 
It 's  a  neat  little  fiction,  —  of  course  it 's  all  fudge. 

That  fellow  's  the  "  Speaker,"   —  the  one  on  the  right ; 

"  Mr.  Mayor,"  my  young  one,  how  are  you  to-night  ? 

That 's  our  "  Member  of  Congress,"  we  say  when  we  chaff ; 

There  's  the  "  Reverend  "  what 's  his  name  ? — don't  make  me  laugh. 

That  boy  with  the  grave  mathematical  look 

Made  believe  he  had  written  a  wonderful  book, 

And  the  ROYAL  SOCIETY  thought  it  was  true  \ 

So  they  chose  him  right  in  ;  a  good  joke  it  was,  too ! 

There  's  a  boy,  we  pretend,  with  a  three-decker  brain, 

That  could  harness  a  team  with  a  logical  chain ; 

When  he  spoke  for  our  manhood  in  syllabled  fire, 

We  called  him  "  The  Justice,"  but  now  he  's  "  The  Squire." 

And  there  's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith,  — 
Fate  tried  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith  ; 
But  he  shouted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free,  — 
Just  read  on  his  medal,  "  My  country,"  "  of  thee  !  " 

You  hear  that  boy  laughing  ?  —  You  think  he  's  all  fun  ; 
But  the  angels  laugh,  too,  at  the  good  he  has  done ; 


484        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  children  laugh  loud  as  they  troop  to  his  call, 

And  the  poor  man  that  knows  him  laughs  loudest  of  all ! 


Yes,  we  're  boys,  —  always  playing  with  tongue  or  with  pen, 
And  I  sometime  have  asked,  —  Shall  we  ever  be  men  ? 
Shall  we  always  be  youthful,  and  laughing,  and  gay, 
Till  the  last  dear  companion  drops  smiling  away  ? 

Then  here  's  to  our  boyhood,  its  gold  and  its  gray ! 
The  stars  of  its  winter,  the  dews  of  its  May  ! 
And  when  we  have  done  with  our  life-lasting  toys, 
Dear  Father,  take  care  of  thy  children,  THE  BOYS  ! 


THE  DEACON'S  MASTERPIECE,  OR  THE  WONDERFUL 
"ONE-HOSS  SHAY" 

A  LOGICAL  STORY 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it  —  ah,  but  stay, 

I  '11  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay, 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits,  — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five. 
Georgitts  Secundus  was  then  alive,  — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake-day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  the  one-hoss  shay. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  485 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 

There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot,  — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 

In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace,  —  lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will,  — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without,  — 

And  that 's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

That  a  chaise  breaks  down,  but  does  n't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  Deacons  do, 
With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "I  \£&yeou  ") 
He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 
'N'  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ; 
It  should  be  so  built  that  it  could  n  break  daown  : 
."  Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  'tis  mighty  plain 
Thut  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain ; 
'N'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest 
T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  could  n't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke,  — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees, 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum,"  — 

Last  of  its  timber,  —  they  could  n't  sell  'em, 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 


486        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide  ; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through." 

"  There  !  "  said  the  Deacon,  "  naow  she  '11  dew  !  " 

Do  !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less ! 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren  —  where  were  they  ? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake  day ! 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  ;  — it  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten  ;  — 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  they  called  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came  ;  — 
Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  come  fifty,  and  FIFTY-FIVE. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there  's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large  ; 

Take  it.  —  You  're  welcome.  —  No  extra  charge.) 

FIRST  of  NOVEMBER,  — the  Earthquake-day, - 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay, 

A  general  flavor  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  could  n't  be,  —  for  the  Deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 

That  there  was  n't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  487 

For  the 'wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 
And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 
And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 
And  the  whipple-tree  neither  less  nor  more, 
And  the  back  crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 
And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 
And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 
In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five  ! 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way ! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay. 

"  Huddup  !  "  said  the  parson.  —  Off  went  they. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text,  — 

Had  got  to  fifthly \  and  stopped  perplexed 

At  what  the  —  Moses  —  was  coming  next. 

All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 

Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 

First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 

Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill,  — 

And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 

At  half  past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock,  — 

Just  the  hour  of  the  Earthquake  shock ! 

What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 

When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 

The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 

As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground ! 

You  see,  of  course,  if  you  're  not  a  dunce, 

How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once," — 

All  at  once,  and  nothing  first,  — 

Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay 
Logic  is  logic.    That 's  all  I  say. 


488         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed,  — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed ! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil ; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn  ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

While  on  my  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings: 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 
As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  489 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea ! 


A  SUN-DAY  HYMN 

Lord  of  all  being !  throned  afar, 
Thy  glory  flames  from  sun  and  star ; 
Centre  and  soul  of  every  sphere, 
Yet  to  each  loving  heart  how  near ! 

Sun  of  our  life,  thy  quickening  ray 
Sheds  on  our  path  the  glow  of  day ; 
Star  of  our  hope,  thy  softened  light 
Cheers  the  long  watches  of  the  night. 

Our  midnight  is  thy  smile  withdrawn ; 
Our  noontide  is  thy  gracious  dawn  ; 
Our  rainbow  arch  thy  mercy's  sign ; 
All,  save  the  clouds  of  sin,  are  thine ! 

Lord  of  all  life,  below,  above, 

Whose  light  is  truth,  whose  warmth  is  love, 

Before  thy  ever-blazing  throne 

We  ask  no  lustre  of  our  own. 

Grant  us  thy  truth  to  make  us  free, 
And  kindling  hearts  that  burn  for  thee, 
Till  all  thy  living  altars  claim 
One  holy  light,  one  heavenly  flame ! 


490        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  VOICELESS 

We  count  the  broken  lyres  that  rest 

Where  the  sweet  wailing  singers  slumber, 
But  o'er  their  silent  sister's  breast 

The  wild-flowers  who  will  stoop  to  number  ? 
A  few  can  touch  the  magic  string, 

And  noisy  Fame  is  proud  to  win  them  :  — 
Alas  for  those  that  never  sing, 

But  die  with  all  their  music  in  them ! 

Nay,  grieve  not  for  the  dead  alone 

Whose  song  has  told  their  hearts'  sad  story,  — 
Weep  for  the  voiceless,  who  have  known 

The  cross  without  the  crown  of  glory ! 
Not  where  Leucadian  breezes  sweep 

O'er  Sappho's  memory-haunted  billow, 
But  where  the  glistening  night-dews  weep 

On  nameless  sorrow's  churchyard  pillow. 

O  hearts  that  break  and  give  no  sign 

Save  whitening  lips  and  fading  tresses, 
Till  Death  pours  out  his  longed-for  wine 

Slow-dropped  from  Misery's  crushing  presses,  - 
If  singing  breath  or  echoing  chord 

To  every  hidden  pang  were  given, 
What  endless  melodies  were  poured, 

As  sad  as  earth,  as  sweet  as  heaven ! 


THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST-TABLE 
CHAP.  II 

I  really  believe  some  people  save  their  bright  thoughts,  as  being 
too  precious  for  conversation.  What  do  you  think  an  admiring 
friend  said  the  other  day  to  one  that  was  talking  good  things,  — 
good  enough  to  print?  "Why,"  said  he,  "you  are  wasting  mer 
chantable  literature,  a  cash  article,  at  the  rate,  as  nearly  as  I  can 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  491 

tell,  of  fifty  dollars  an  hour."  The  talker  took  him  to  the  window 
and  asked  him  to  look  out  and  tell  him  what  he  saw. 

"  Nothing  but  a  very  dusty  street,"  he  said,  "  and  a  man  driving 
a  sprinkling-machine  through  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  the  man  he  is  wasting  that  water  ?  What 
would  be  the  state  of  the  highways  of  life,  if  we  did  not  drive  our 
thought-sprinklers  through  them  with  the  valves  open,  sometimes  ? 

"  Besides,  there  is  another  thing  about  this  talking,  which  you 
forget.  It  shapes  our  thoughts  for  us  ;  —  the  waves  of  conversa 
tion  roll  them  as  the  surf  rolls  the  pebbles  on  the  shore.  Let  me 
modify  the  image  a  little.  I  rough  out  my  thoughts  in  talk  as  an 
artist  models  in  clay.  Spoken  language  is  so  plastic,  —  you  can 
pat  and  coax,  and  spread  and  shave,  and  rub  out,  and  fill  up,  and 
stick  on  so  easily,  when  you  work  that  soft  material,  that  there  is 
nothing  like  it  for  modeling.  Out  of  it  comes  the  shapes  which 
you  turn  into  marble  or  bronze  in  your  immortal  books,  if  you 
happen  to  write  such.  Or,  to  use  another  illustration,  writing  or 
printing  is  like  shooting  with  a  rifle ;  you  may  hit  your  reader's 
mind,  or  miss  it ;  —  but  talking  is  like  playing  at  a  mark  with 
the  pipe  of  an  engine ;  if  it  is  within  reach,  and  you  have  time 
enough,  you  can't  help  hitting  it." 

The  company  agreed  that  this  last  illustration  was  of  superior 
excellence,  or,  in  the  phrase  used  by  them,  "  Fust-rate."  —  I  ac 
knowledged  the  compliment,  but  gently  rebuked  the  expression. 
"Fust-rate,"  "prime,"  "a  prime  article,"  "a  superior  piece  of 
goods,"  "a  handsome  garment,"  "a  gent  in  a  flowered  vest,"  — 
all  such  expressions  are  final.  They  blast  the  lineage  of  him  or 
her  who  utters  them,  for  generations  up  and  down.  There  is  one 
other  phrase  which  will  soon  come  to  be  decisive  of  a  man's  social 
status,  if  it  is  not  already :  "  That  tells  the  whole  story."  It  is 
an  expression  which  vulgar  and  conceited  people  particularly  affect, 
and  which  well-meaning  ones,  who  know  better,  catch  from  them. 
It  is  intended  to  stop  all  debate,  like  the  previous  question  in  the 
General  Court.  Only  it  don't ;  simply  because  "  that "  does  not 
usually  tell  the  whole,  nor  one  half  of  the  whole  story. 

It  is  an  odd  idea,  that  almost  all  our  people  have  had  a 

professional  education.  To  become  a  doctor  a  man  must  study 


492         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

some  three  years  and  hear  a  thousand  lectures,  more  or  less.  Just 
how  much  study  it  takes  to  make  a  lawyer  I  cannot  say,  but  proba 
bly  not  more  than  this.  Now  most  decent  people  hear  one  hundred 
lectures  or  sermons  (discourses)  on  theology  every  year,  —  and  this, 
twenty,  thirty,  fifty  years  together.  They  read  a  great  many  reli 
gious  books  besides.  The  clergy,  however,  rarely  hear  any  sermons 
except  what  they  preach  themselves.  A  dull  preacher  might  be 
conceived,  therefore,  to  lapse  into  a  state  of  quasi  heathenism, 
simply  for  want  of  religious  instruction.  And  on  the  other  hand, 
an  attentive  and  intelligent  hearer,  listening  to  a  succession  of  wise 
teachers,  might  become  actually  better  educated  in  theology  than 
any  one  of  them.  We  are  all  theological  students,  and  more  of 
us  qualified  as  doctors  of  divinity,  than  have  received  degrees  at 
any  of  the  universities. 

It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  very  good  people  should  often 
find  it  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  keep  their  attention  fixed  upon 
a  sermon  treating  feebly  a  subject  which  they  have  thought  vigor 
ously  about  for  years,  and  heard  able  men  discuss  scores  of  times. 
I  have  often  noticed,  however,  that  a  hopelessly  dull  discourse  acts 
inductively,  as  electricians  would  say,  in  developing  strong  mental 
currents.  I  am  ashamed  to  think  with  what  accompaniments  and 
variations  and  fioriture  I  have  sometimes  followed  the  droning 
of  a  heavy  speaker,  —  not  willingly,  —  for  my  habit  is  reverential, 
but  as  a  necessary  result  of  a  slight  continuous  impression  on  the 
senses  and  the  mind,  which  kept  both  in  action  without  furnishing 
the  food  they  required  to  work  upon.  If  you  ever  saw  a  crow  with 
a  king-bird  after  him,  you  will  get  an  image  of  a  dull  speaker  and 
a  lively  listener.  The  bird  in  sable  plumage  flaps  heavily  along  his 
straightforward  course,  while  the  other  sails  round  him,  over  him, 
under  him,  leaves  him,  comes  back  again,  tweaks  out  a  black 
feather,  shoots  away  once  more,  never  losing  sight  of  him,  and 
finally  reaches  the  crow's  perch  at  the  same  time  the  crow  does, 
having  cut  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  loops  and  knots,  and  spirals 
while  the  slow  fowl  was  painfully  working  from  one  end  of  his 
straight  line  to  the  other. 

[I  think  these  remarks  were  received  rather  coolly.  A  temporary 
boarder  from  the  country,  consisting  of  a  somewhat  more  than 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  493 

middle-aged  female,  with  a  parchment  forehead  and  a  dry  little 
"  frisette  "  shingling  it,  a  sallow  neck  with  a  necklace  of  gold  beads, 
a  black  dress  too  rusty  for  recent  grief,  and  contours  in  basso-rilievo, 
left  the  table  prematurely,  and  was  reported  to  have  been  very  viru 
lent  about  what  I  said.  So  I  went  to  my  good  old  minister,  and 
repeated  the  remarks,  as  nearly  as  I  could  remember  them,  to  him. 
He  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  said  there  was  considerable  truth 
in  them.  He  thought  he  could  tell  when  people's  minds  were 
wandering,  by  their  looks.  In  the  earlier  years  of  his  ministry 
he  had  sometimes  noticed  this,  when  he  was  preaching  ;  —  a  very 
little  of  late  years.  Sometimes,  when  his  colleague  was  preaching, 
he  observed  this  kind  of  inattention ;  but  after  all,  it  was  not  so 
very  unnatural.  I  will  say,  by  the  way,  that  it  is  a  rule  I  have  long 
followed,  to  tell  my  worst  faults  to  my  minister,  and  my  best 
thoughts  to  the  young  people  I  talk  with.] 

1  want  to  make  a  literary  confession  now,  which  I  believe 

nobody  has  made  before  me.  You  know  very  well  that  I  write 
verses  sometimes,  because  I  have  read  some  of  them  at  this  table. 
(The  company  assented,  —  two  or  three  of  them  in  a  resigned  sort 
of  way,  as  I  thought,  as  if  they  supposed  I  had  an  epic  in  my 
pocket,  and  was  going  to  read  half  a  dozen  books  or  so  for  their 
benefit.)  —  I  continued.  Of  course  I  write  some  lines  or  passages 
which  are  better  than  others ;  some  which,  compared  with  the 
others,  might  be  called  relatively  excellent.  It  is  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  I  should  consider  these  relatively  excellent  lines  or 
passages  as  absolutely  good.  So  much  must  be  pardoned  to  hu 
manity.  Now  I  never  wrote  a  "  good  "  line  in  my  life,  but  the 
moment  after  it  was  written  it  seemed  a  hundred  years  old.  Very 
commonly  I  had  a  sudden  conviction  that  I  had  seen  it  somewhere. 
Possibly  I  may  have  sometimes  unconsciously  stolen  it,  but  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  ever  once  detected  any  historical  truth  in  these 
sudden  convictions  of  the  antiquity  of  my  new  thought  or  phrase. 
I  have  learned  utterly  to  distrust  them,  and  never  allow  them  to 
bully  me  out  of  a  thought  or  line. 

This  is  the  philosophy  of  it.  (Here  the  number  of  the  company 
was  diminished  by  a  small  secession.)  Any  new  formula  which 
suddenly  emerges  in  our  consciousness  has  its  roots  in  long  trains 


494         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

of  thought ;  it  is  virtually  old  when  it  first  makes  its  appearance 
among  the  recognized  growths  of  our  intellect.  Any  crystalline 
group  of  musical  words  has  had  a  long  and  still  period  to  form  in. 
Here  is  one  theory. 

But  there  is  a  larger  law  which  perhaps  comprehends  these  facts. 
It  is  this.  The  rapidity  with  which  ideas  grow  old  in  our  memories 
is  in  a  direct  ratio  to  the  squares  of  their  importance.  Their  appar 
ent  age  runs  up  miraculously,  like  the  value  of  diamonds,  as  they 
increase  in  magnitude.  A  great  calamity,  for  instance,  is  as  old 
as  the  trilobites  an  hour  after  it  has  happened.  It  stains  backward 
through  all  the  leaves  we  have  turned  over  in  the  book  of  life,  be 
fore  its  blot  of  tears  or  ofblood  is  dry  on  the  page  we  are  turning. 
For  this  we  seem  to  have  lived ;  it  was  foreshadowed  in  dreams 
that  we  leaped  out  of  in  the  cold  sweat  of  terror;  in  the  "  dissolving 
views  "  of  dark  day-visions ;  all  omens  pointed  to  it ;  all  paths  led 
to  it.  After  the  tossing  half-forgetfulness  of  the  first  sleep  that 
follows  such  an  event,  it  comes  upon  us  afresh,  as  a  surprise,  at 
waking  ;  in  a  few  moments  it  is  old  again,  —  old  as  eternity. 

[I  wish  I  had  not  said  all  this  then  and  there.  I  might  have 
known  better.  The  pale  schoolmistress,  in  her  mourning  dress, 
was  looking  at  me,  as  I  noticed,  with  a  wild  sort  of  expression, 
All  at  once  the  blood  dropped  out  of  her  cheeks  as  the  mercury 
drops  from  a  broken  barometer-tube,  and  she  melted  away  from 
her  seat  like  an  image  of  snow ;  a  slung-shot  could  not  have 
brought  her  down  better.  God  forgive  me ! 

After  this  little  episode,  I  continued,  to  some  few  that  remained 
balancing  tea-spoons  on  the  edges  of  cups,  twirling  knives,  or  tilting 
upon  the  hind  legs  of  their  chairs  until  their  heads  reached  the 
wall,  where  they  left  gratuitous  advertisements  of  various  popular 
cosmetics.] 

When  a  person  is  suddenly  tnrust  into  any  strange,  new  position 
of  trial,  he  finds  the  place  fits  him  as  if  he  had  been  measured  for  it. 
He  has  committed  a  great  crime,  for  instance,  and  is  sent  to  the 
State  Prison.  The  traditions,  prescriptions,  limitations,  privileges,  all 
the  sharp  conditions  of  his  new  life,  stamp  themselves  upon  his  con 
sciousness  as  the  signet  on  soft  wax  ;  —  a  single  pressure  is  enough. 
Let  me  strengthen  the  image  a  little.  Did  you  ever  happen  to  see 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  495 

that  most  soft-spoken  and  velvet-handed  steam-engine  at  the  Mint  ? 
The  smooth  piston  slides  backward  and  forward  as  a  lady  might 
slip  her  delicate  finger  in  and  out  of  a  ring.  The  engine  lays  one 
of  its  fingers  calmly,  but  firmly,  upon  a  bit  of  metal ;  it  is  a  coin 
now,  and  will  remember  that  touch,  and  tell  a  new  race  about  it, 
when  the  date  upon  it  is  crusted  over  with  twenty  centuries.  So  it 
is  that  a  great  silent-moving  misery  puts  a  new  stamp  on  us  in 
an  hour  or  a  moment,  —  as  sharp  an  impression  as  if  it  had  taken 
half  a  lifetime  to  engrave  it.  -  . 

It  is  awful  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the  wholesale  professional  dealers 
in  misfortune  ;  undertakers  and  jailers  magnetize  you  in  a  moment, 
and  you  pass  out  of  the  individual  life  you  were  living  into  the 
rhythmical  movements  of  their  horrible  machinery.  Do  the  worst 
thing  you  can,  or  suffer  the  worst  that  can  be  thought  of,  you  find 
yourself  in  a  category  of  humanity  that  stretches  back  as  far  as 
Cain,  and  with  an  expert  at  your  elbow  that  has  studied  your  case 
all  out  beforehand,  and  is  waiting  for  you  with  his  implements  of 
hemp  or  mahogany.  I  believe,  if  a  man  were  to  be  burned  in  any  of 
our  cities  to-morrow  for  heresy,  there  would  be  found  a  master 
of  ceremonies  that  knew  just  how  many  fagots  were  necessary, 
and  the  best  way  of  arranging  the  whole  matter. 

So  we  have  not  won  the  Goodwood-cup  ;  ati  contraire,  we 

were  a  "bad  fifth,"  if  not  worse  than  that;  and  trying  it  again, 
and  the  third  time,  has  not  yet  bettered  the  matter.  Now  I  am  as 
patriotic  as  any  of  my  fellow-citizens,  —  too  patriotic  in  fact,  for  I 
have  got  into  hot  water  by  loving  too  much  of  my  country  ;  in  short, 
if  any  man,  whose  fighting  weight  is  not  more  than  eight  stone 
four  pounds,  disputes  it  I  am  ready  to  discuss  the  point  with  him. 
I  should  have  gloried  to  see  the  stars  and  stripes  in  front  at  the 
finish.  I  love  my  country,  and  I  love  horses.  Stubb's  old  mezzo 
tint  of  Eclipse  hangs  over  my  desk,  and  Herring's  portrait  of  Pleni 
potentiary,  —  whom  I  saw  run  at  Epsom,  —  over  my  fireplace.  Did 
I  not  elope  from  school  to  see  Revenge,  and  Prospect,  and  Little 
John,  and  Peacemaker  run  over  the  race-course  where  now  yon 
suburban  village  flourishes,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  ever- 
so-few  ?  Though  I  never  owned  a  horse,  have  I  not  been  the  pro 
prietor  of  six  equine  females,  of  which  one  was  the  prettiest  little 


496        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  Morgin  "  that  ever  stepped  ?  Listen,  then,  to  an  opinion  I  have 
often  expressed  long  before  this  venture  of  ours  in  England. 
Horse-racing  is  not  a  republican  institution ;  horse-trotting  is. 
Only  very  rich  persons  can  keep  race-horses,  and  everybody  knows 
they  are  kept  mainly  as  gambling  implements.  All  that  matter 
about  blood  and  speed  we  won't  discuss ;  we  understand  all  that ; 
useful,  very,  —  of  course,  —  great  obligations  to  the  Godolphin 
"  Arabian,"  and  the  rest.  I  say  racing  horses  are  essentially  gam 
bling  implements,  as  much  as  roulette  tables.  Now  I  am  not  preach 
ing  at  this  moment ;  I  may  read  you  one  of  my  sermons  some  other 
morning ;  but  I  maintain  that  gambling,  on  the  great  scale,  is  not 
republican.  It  belongs  to  two  phases  of  society, — a  cankered  over- 
civilization,  such  as  exists  in  rich  aristocracies,  and  the  reckless  life 
of  borderers  and  adventurers,  or  the  semi-barbarism  of  a  civilization 
resolved  into  its  primitive  elements.  Real  republicanism  is  stern 
and  severe ;  its  essence  is  not  in  forms  of  government,  but  in  the 
omnipotence  of  public  opinion  which  grows  out  of  it.  This  public 
opinion  cannot  prevent  gambling  with  dice  or  stocks,  but  it  can  and 
does  compel  it  to  keep  comparatively  quiet.  But  horse-racing  is  the 
most  public  way  of  gambling  ;  and  with  all  its  immense  attractions 
to  the  sense  and  the  feelings,  —  to  which  I  plead  very  susceptible, 

—  the  disguise  is  too  thin  that  covers  it,  and  everybody  knows  what 
it  means.    Its  supporters  are  the  Southern  gentry,  —  fine  fellows, 
no  doubt,  but  not  republicans  exactly,  as  we  understand  the  term, 

—  a  few  Northern  millionaires  more  or  less  thoroughly  millioned, 
who  do  not  represent  the  real  people,  and  the  mob  of  sporting  men, 
the  best  of  whom  are  commonly  idlers,  and  the  worst  very  bad 
neighbors  to  have  near  one  in  a  crowd,  or  to  meet  in  a  dark  alley. 
In  England,  on  the  other  hand,  with  its  aristocratic  institutions, 
racing  is  a  natural  growth  enough ;  the  passion  for  it  spreads  down 
ward  through  all  classes,  from  the  Queen  to  the  costermonger. 
London  is  like  a  shelled  corn-cob  on  the  Derby  day,  and  there 
is  not  a  clerk  who  could  raise  the  money  to  hire  a  saddle  with  an 
old  hack  under  it  that  can  sit  down  on  his  office-stool  the  next 
day  without  wincing. 

Now  just  compare  the  racer  with  the  trotter  for  a  moment. 
The  racer  is  incidentally  useful,  but  essentially  something  to  bet 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  497 

upon,  as  much  as  the  thimble-rigger's  "little  joker."  The  trotter 
is  essentially  and  daily  useful,  and  only  incidentally  a  tool  for 
sporting  men. 

What  better  reason  do  you  want  for  the  fact  that  the  racer  is 
most  cultivated  and  reaches  his  greatest  perfection  in  England,  and 
that  the  trotting  horses  of  America  beat  the  world  ?  And  why  should 
we  have  expected  that  the  pick  —  if  it  was  the  pick  —  of  our  few 
and  far-between  racing  stables  should  beat  the  pick  of  England  and 
Erance  ?  Throw  over  the  fallacious  time-test,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  show  for  it  but  a  natural  kind  of  patriotic  feeling,  which  we  all 
have,  with  a  thoroughly  provincial  conceit,  which  some  of  us  must 
plead  guilty  to. 

We  may  beat  yet.  As  an  American,  I  hope  we  shall.  As  a 
moralist  and  occasional  sermonizer,  I  am  not  so  anxious  about  it. 
Wherever  the  trotting  horse  goes,  he  carries  in  his  train  brisk 
omnibuses,  lively  bakers'  carts,  and  therefore  hot  rolls,  the  jolly 
butcher's  wagon,  the  cheerful  gig,  the  wholesome  afternoon  drive 
with  wife  and  child,  —  all  the  forms  of  moral  excellence,  except 
truth,  which  does  not  agree  with  any  kind  of  horse-flesh.  The 
racer  brings  with  him  gambling,  cursing,  swearing,  drinking,  the 
eating  of  oysters,  and  a  distaste  for  mob-caps  and  the  middle- 
aged  virtues. 

And  by  the  way,  let  me  beg  you  not  to  call  a  trotting  match  a 
race,  and  not  to  speak  of  a  "thoroughbred"  as  a  "blooded"  horse, 
unless  he  has  been  recently  phlebotomized.  I  consent  to  your 
saying  "blood  horse,"  if  you  like.  Also,  if,  next  year,  we  sent 
out  Posterior  and  Posterioress,  the  winners  of  the  great  national 
four-mile  race  in  7:18^,  and  they  happen  to  get  beaten,  pay  your 
bets,  and  behave  like  men  and  gentlemen  about  it,  if  you  know  how. 

[I  felt  a  great  deal  better  after  blowing  off  the  ill-temper  con 
densed  in  the  above  paragraph.    To  brag  little,  — to  show  well,— 
to  crow  gently,  if  in  luck,  —  to  pay  up,  to  own  up,  and  to  shut  up, 
if  beaten,  are  the  virtues  of  a  sporting  man,  and  I  can't  say  that 
I  think  we  have  shown  them  in  any  great  perfection  of  late.] 

—Apropos  of  horses.  Do  you  know  how  important  good 
jockeying  is  to  authors  ?  Judicious  management ;  letting  the 
public  see  your  animal  just  enough,  and  not  too  much ;  holding 


498        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

him  up  hard  when  the  market  is  too  full  of  him ;  letting  him  out 
at  just  the  right  buying  intervals;  always  gently  feeling  his  mouth; 
never  slacking  and  never  jerking  the  rein  ;  —  this  is  what  I  mean 
by  jockeying. 

—When  an  author  has  a  number  of  books  out,  a  cunning 
hand  will  keep  them  all  spinning,  as  Signor  Blitz  does  his  dinner- 
plates ;  fetching  each  one  up,  as  it  begins  to  "wabble,"  by  an 
advertisement,  a  puff,  or  a  quotation. 

—Whenever  the  extracts  from  a  living  writer  begin  to  mul 
tiply  fast  in  the  papers,  without  obvious  reason,  there  is  a  new 
book  or  a  new  edition  coming.  The  extracts  are  ground-bait. 

—  Literary  life  is  full  of  curious  phenomena.  I  don't  know 
that  here  is  anything  more  noticeable  than  what  we  may  call 
conventional  reputations.  There  is  a  tacit  understanding  in  every 
community  of  men  of  letters  that  they  will  not  disturb  the  popular 
fallacy  respecting  this  or  that  electro-gilded  celebrity.  There  are 
various  reasons  for  this  forbearance  ;  one  is  old  ;  one  is  rich  ;  one 
is  good-natured ;  one  is  such  a  favorite  with  the  pit  that  it  would 
not  be  safe  to  hiss  him  from  the  manager's  box.  The  venerable 
augurs  of  the  literary  or  scientific  temple  may  smile  faintly  when 
one  of  the  tribe  is  mentioned  ;  but  the  farce  is  in  general  kept  up 
as  well  as  the  Chinese  comic  scene  of  entreating  and  imploring  a 
man  to  stay  with  you,  with  the  implied  compact  between  you  that 
he  shall  by  no  means  think  of  doing  it.  A  poor  wretch  he  must 
be  who  would  wantonly  sit  down  on  one  of  these  bandbox  reputa 
tions.  A  Prince- Rupert's-drop,  which  is  a  tear  of  unannealed  glass, 
lasts  indefinitely,  if  you  keep  it  from  meddling  hands  ;  but  break 
its  tail  off,  and  it  explodes  and  resolves  itself  into  powder.  These 
celebrities  I  speak  of  are  the  Prince-Rupert's-drops  of  the  learned 
and  polite  world.  See  how  the  papers  treat  them  !  What  an  array 
of  pleasant  kaleidoscopic  phrases,  that  can  be  arranged  in  ever  so 
many  charming  patterns,  is  at  their  service!  How  kind  the  "Criti 
cal  Notices  "  —where  small  authorship  comes  to  pick  up  chips  of 
praise,  fragrant,  sugary,  and  sappy  —  always  are  to  them  !  Well, 
life  would  be  nothing  without  paper-credit  and  other  fictions  ;  so 
let  them  pass  current.  Don't  steal  their  chips ;  don't  puncture 
their  swimming-bladders  ;  don't  come  down  on  their  pasteboard 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  499 

boxes ;  don't  break  the  ends  of  their  brittle  and  unstable  reputa 
tions,  you  fellows  who  all  feel  sure  that  your  names  will  be  house 
hold  words  a  thousand  years  from  now. 

11 A  thousand  years  is  a  good  while,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
who  sits  opposite,  thoughtfully. 

—Where  have  I  been  for  the  last  three  or  four  days?  Down 
at  the  Island,  deer-shooting. — How  many  did  I  bag?  I  brought 
home  one  buck  shot. — The  Island  is  where?  No  matter.  It  is 
the  most  splendid  domain  that  any  man  looks  upon  in  these  lati 
tudes.  Blue  sea  around  it,  and  running  up  into  its  heart,  so  that 
the  little  boat  slumbers  like  a  baby  in  lap,  while  the  tall  ships  are 
stripping  naked  to  fight  the  hurricane  outside,  and  storm-stay-sails 
banging  and  flying  in  ribbons.  Trees,  in  stretches  of  miles ;  beeches, 
oaks,  most  numerous ;  — many  of  them  hung  with  moss,  looking  like 
bearded  Druids ;  some  coiled  in  the  clasp  of  huge,  dark-stemmed 
grape-vines.  Open  patches  where  the  sun  gets  in  and  goes  to  sleep, 
and  the  winds  come  so  finely  sifted  that  they  are  as  soft  as  swan's 
down.  Rocks  scattered  about,  —  Stonehenge-like  monoliths.  Fresh 
water  lakes;  one  of  them,  Mary's  lake,  crystal-clear,  full  of  flashing 
pickerel  lying  under  the  lily-pads  like  tigers  in  the  jungle.  Six 
pounds  of  ditto  one  morning  for  breakfast.  EGO  fecit. 

The  divinity-student  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  question  my 
Latin.  No,  sir,  I  said,  — you  need  not  trouble  yourself.  There  is 
a  higher  law  in  grammar,  not  to  be  put  down  by  Andrews  and 
Stoddard.  Then  I  went  on. 

Such  hospitality  as  that  island  has  seen  there  has  not  been  the 
like  of  in  these  our  New  England  sovereignties.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  shape  of  kindness  and  courtesy  that  can  make  life  beautiful, 
which  has  not  found  its  home  in  that  ocean-principality.  It  has 
welcomed  all  who  were  worthy  of  welcome,  from  the  pale  clergy 
man  who  came  to  breathe  the  sea-air  with  its  medicinal  salt  and 
iodine,  to  the  great  statesman  who  turned  his  back  on  the  affairs 
of  empire,  and  smoothed  his  Olympian  forehead,  and  flashed  his 
white  teeth  in  merriment  over  the  long  table,  where  his  wit  was 
the  keenest  and  his  story  the  best. 

[I  don't  believe  any  man  ever  talked  like  that  in  this  world. 
I  don't  believe  /  talked  just  so ;  but  the  fact  is,  in  reporting  one's 


500        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

conversation,  one  cannot  help  Blair-\r\g  it  up  more  or  less,  ironing 
out  crumpled  paragraphs,  starching  limp  ones,  and  crimping  and 
plaiting  a  little  sometimes ;  it  is  as  natural  as  prinking  at  the 
looking-glass.] 

How  can  a  man  help  writing  poetry  in  such  a  place  ?  Every 
body  does  write  poetry  that  goes  there.  In  the  state  archives,  kept 
in  the  library  of  the  Lord  of  the  Isle,  are  whole  volumes  of  unpub 
lished  verse,  —  some  by  well-known  hands,  and  others,  quite  as  good, 
by  the  last  people  you  would  think  of  as  versifiers,  — men  who  could 
pension  off  all  the  genuine  poets  in  the  country,  and  buy  ten  acres 
of  Boston  common,  if  it  was  for  sale,  with  what  they  had  left.  Of 
course  I  had  to  write  my  little  copy  of  verses  with  the  rest ;  here 
it  is,  if  you  will  hear  me  read  it.  When  the  sun  is  in  the  west,  ves 
sels  sailing  in  an  easterly  direction  look  bright  or  dark  to  one  who 
observes  them  from  the  north  or  south,  according  to  the  tack  they 
are  sailing  upon.  Watching  them  from  one  of  the  windows  of  the 
great  mansion,  I  saw  these  perpetual  changes,  and  moralized  thus  :— 

As  I  look  from  the  isle,  o'er  its  billows  of  green 

To  the  billows  of  foam-crested  blue, 
Yon  bark,  that  afar  in  the  distance  is  seen 

Half  dreaming,  my  eyes  will  pursue : 
Now  dark  in  the  shadow,  she  scatters  the  spray 

As  the  chaff  in  the  stroke  of  the  flail ; 
Now  white  as  the  sea-gull,  she  flies  on  her  way 

The  sun  gleaming  bright  on  her  sail. 

Yet  her  pilot  is  thinking  of  dangers  to  shun,  — 

Of  breakers  that  whiten  and  roar ; 
How  little  he  cares,  if  in  shadow  or  sun 

They  see  him  that  gaze  from  the  shore ! 
He  looks  to  the  beacon  that  looms  from  the  reef, 

To  the  rock  that  is  under  his  lee, 
As  he  drifts  on  the  blast,  like  a  wind-wafted  leaf, 

O'er  the  gulfs  of  the  desolate  sea. 

Thus  drifting  afar  to  the  dim-vaulted  caves, 

Where  life  and  its  ventures  are  laid, 
The  dreamers  who  gaze  while  we  battle  the  waves 

May  see  us  in  sunshine  or  shade ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  501 

Yet  true  to  our  course,  though  our  shadow  grow  dark, 

We  '11  trim  our  broad  sail  as  before, 
And  stand  by  the  rudder  that  governs  the  bark, 

Nor  ask  how  we  look  from  the  shore ! 

—  Insanity  is  often  the  logic  of  an  accurate  mind  overtasked. 
Good  mental  machinery  ought  to  break  its  own  wheels  and  levers, 
if  anything  is  thrust  among  them  suddenly  which  tends  to  stop  them 
or  reverse  their  motion.  A  weak  mind  does  not  accumulate  force 
enough  to  hurt  itself  ;  stupidity  often  saves  a  man  from  going  mad. 
We  frequently  see  persons  in  insane  hospitals,  sent  there  in  con 
sequence  of  what  are  called  religions  mental  disturbances.  I  con 
fess  that  I  think  better  of  them  than  of  many  who  hold  the  same 
notions,  and  keep  their  wits  and  appear  to  enjoy  life  very  well,  out 
side  of  the  asylums.  Any  decent  person  ought  to  go  mad,  if  he 
really  holds  such  or  such  opinions.  It  is  very  much  to  his  discredit 
in  every  point  of  view,  if  he  does  not.  What  is  the  use  of  my  say 
ing  what  some  of  these  opinions  are  ?  Perhaps  more  than  one  of 
you  hold  such  as  I  should  think  ought  to  send  you  straight  over  to 
Somerville,  if  you  have  any  logic  in  your  heads  or  any  human  feel 
ing  in  your  hearts.  Anything  that  is  brutal,  cruel,  heathenish,  that 
makes  life  hopeless  for  the  most  of  mankind  and  perhaps  for  entire 
races,  —  anything  that  assumes  the  necessity  of  the  extermination 
of  instincts  which  were  given  to  be  regulated,  —  no  matter  by  what 
name  you  call  it,  —  no  matter  whether  a  fakir,  or  a  monk,  or  a  dea 
con  believes  it, — if  received,  ought  to  produce  insanity  in  every  well- 
regulated  mind.  That  condition  becomes  a  normal  one,  under  the 
circumstances.  I  am  very  much  ashamed  of  some  people  for  retain 
ing  their  reason,  when  they  know  perfectly  well  that  if  they  were 
not  the  most  stupid  or  the  most  selfish  of  human  beings,  they  would 
become  noncompotes  at  once. 

[Nobody  understood  this  but  the  theological  student  and  the 
schoolmistress.  They  looked  intelligently  at  each  other;  but 
whether  they  were  thinking  about  my  paradox  or  not,  I  am  not 
clear.  —  It  would  be  natural  enough.  Stranger  things  have  hap 
pened.  Love  and  Death  enter  boarding-houses  without  asking  the 
price  of  board,  or  whether  there  is  room  for  them.  Alas,  these 
young  people  are  poor  and  pallid  I  Love  should  be  both  rich  and 


502         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

rosy,  but  must  be  either  rich  or  rosy.  Talk  about  military  duty ! 
What  is  that  to  the  warfare  of  a  married  maid-of -all-work,  with  the 
title  of  mistress,  and  an  American  female  constitution,  which  col 
lapses  just  in  the  middle  third  of  life,  and  comes  out  vulcanized 
India-rubber,  if  it  happen  to  live  through  the  period  when  health 
and  strength  are  most  wanted  ?] 

—Have  I  ever  acted  in  private  theatricals?  Often.  I  have 
played  the  part  of  the  "  Poor  Gentleman,"  before  a  great  many 
audiences,  —  more,  I  trust,  than  I  shall  ever  face  again.  I  did  not 
wear  a  stage-costume,  nor  a  wig,  nor  mustaches  of  burnt  cork ;  but 
I  was  placarded  and  announced  as  a  public  performer,  and  at  the 
proper  hour  I  came  forward  with  the  ballet-dancer's  smile  upon  my 
countenance,  and  made  my  bow  and  acted  my  part.  I  have  seen 
my  name  stuck  up  in  letters  so  big  that  I  was  ashamed  to  show 
myself  in  the  place  by  daylight.  I  have  gone  to  a  town  with 
a  sober  literary  essay  in  my  pocket,  and  seen  myself  everywhere 
announced  as  the  most  desperate  of  buffos, — one  who  was  obliged 
to  restrain  himself  in  the  full  exercise  of  his  powers,  from  pru 
dential  considerations.  I  have  been  through  as  many  hardships  as 
Ulysses,  in  the  pursuit  of  my  histrionic  vocation.  I  have  traveled 
in  cars  until  the  conductors  all  knew  me  like  a  brother.  I  have 
run  off  the  rails,  and  stuck  all  night  in  snow-drifts,  and  sat  behind 
females  that  would  have  the  window  open  when  one  could  not 
wink  without  his  eyelids  freezing  together.  Perhaps  I  shall  give 
you  some  of  my  experiences  one  of  these  days ;  —  I  will  not 
now,  for  I  have  something  else  for  you. 

Private  theatricals,  as  I  have  figured  in  them  in  county  lyceum- 
halls,  are  one  thing,  —  and  private  theatricals,  as  they  may  be  seen 
in  certain  gilded  and  frescoed  saloons  of  our  metropolis,  are  another. 
Yes,  it  is  pleasant  to  see  real  gentlemen  and  ladies,  who  do  not 
think  it  necessary  to  mouth,  and  rant,  and  stride,  like  most  of  our 
stage  heroes  and  heroines,  in  the  characters  which  show  off  their 
graces  and  talents  ;  most  of  all  to  see  a  fresh,  unrouged,  unspoiled, 
high-bred  young  maiden,  with  a  lithe  figure,  and  a  pleasant  voice, 
acting  in  those  love-dramas  that  make  us  young  again  to  look 
upon,  when  real  youth  and  beauty  will  play  them  for  us. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  503 

Of  course  I  wrote  the  prologue  I  was  asked  to  write.  I  did 

not  see  the  play,  though.  I  knew  there  was  a  young  lady  in  it,  and 
that  somebody  was  in  love  with  her,  and  she  was  in  love  with  him, 
and  somebody  (an  old  tutor,  I  believe)  wanted  to  interfere,  and, 
very  naturally,  the  young  lady  was  too  sharp  for  him.  The  play  of 
course  ends  charmingly ;  there  is  a  general  reconciliation,  and  all 
concerned  form  a  line  and  take  each  others'  hands,  as  people 
always  do  after  they  have  made  up  their  quarrels,  —  and  then  the 
curtain  falls,  —  if  it  does  not  stick,  as  it  commonly  does  at  private 
theatrical  exhibitions,  in  which  case  a  boy  is  detailed  to  pull  it 
down,  which  he  does,  blushing  violently. 

Now,  then,  for  my  prologue.  I  am  not  going  to  change  my 
caesuras  and  cadences  for  anybody ;  so  if  you  do  not  like  the 
heroic,  or  iambic  trimeter  brachy-catalectic,  you  had  better  not 
wait  to  hear  it. 

THIS  IS  IT 

A  Prologue  ?   Well,  of  course  the  ladies  know ; 
I  have  my  doubts.    No  matter,  —  here  we  go  ! 
What  is  a  Prologue  ?    Let  our  Tutor  teach  : 
Pro  means  beforehand ;  logos  stands  for  speech. 
'T  is  like  the  harper's  prelude  on  the  strings, 
The  prima  donna's  courtesy  ere  she  sings ;  — 
Prologues  in  meter  are  to  other  pros 
As  worsted  stockings  are  to  engine-hose. 

"  The  world  's  a  stage,"  —  as  Shakespeare  said,  one  day ; 

The  stage  a  world  —  was  what  he  meant  to  say. 

The  outside  world  's  a  blunder,  that  is  clear ; 

The  real  world  that  Nature  meant  is  here. 

Here  every  foundling  finds  its  lost  mamma ; 

Each  rogue,  repentant,  melts  his  stern  papa; 

Misers  relent,  the  spendthrift's  debts  are  paid, 

The  cheats  are  taken  in  the  traps  they  laid ; 

One  after  one  the  troubles  all  are  past 

Till  the  fifth  act  comes  right  side  up  at  last, 

When  the  young  couple,  old  folks,  rogues,  and  all, 

Join  hands,  so  happy  at  the  curtain's  fall. 


504        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

-  Here  suffering  virtue  ever  finds  relief, 
And  black-browed  ruffians  always  come  to  grief. 

—  When  the  lorn  damsel,  with  a  frantic  screech, 
And  cheeks  as  hueless  as  a  brandy-peach, 

Cries,  "  Help,  kyind  Heaven !  "  and  drops  upon  her  knees 
On  the  green  —  baize,  —  beneath  the  (canvas)  trees,  — 
See  to  her  side  avenging  Valor  fly  :  — 
11  Ha !  Villain  !  Draw  !  Now,  Terraitorr,  yield  or  die  !  " 

—  When  the  poor  hero  flounders  in  despair, 
Some  dear  lost  uncle  turns  up  millionaire,  — 
Clasps  the  young  scapegrace  with  paternal  joy, 

Sobs  on  his  neck,  "  My  boy  /  MY  BOY  ! !  MY  BOY  ! ! !  " 

Ours,  then,  sweet  friends,  the  real  world  to-night 
Of  love  that  conquers  in  disaster's  spite. 
Ladies,  attend !    While  woful  cares  and  doubt 
Wrong  the  soft  passion  in  the  world  without, 
Though  fortune  scowl,  though  prudence  interfere, 
One  thing  is  certain  :   Love  will  triumph  here ! 

Lords  of  creation,  whom  your  ladies  rule,  — 

The  world's  great  masters,  when  you  're  out  of  school,  — 

Learn  the  brief  moral  of  our  evening's  play  : 

Man  has  his  will,  —  but  woman  has  her  way  ! 

While  man's  dull  spirit  toils  in  smoke  and  fire, 

Woman's  swift  instinct  threads  the  electric  wire, 

The  magic  bracelet  stretched  beneath  the  waves 
Beats  the  black  giant  with  his  score  of  slaves. 
All  earthly  powers  confess  your  sovereign  art 
But  that  one  rebel,  —  woman's  wilful  heart 
All  foes  you  master ;  but  a  woman's  wit 
Lets  daylight  through  you  ere  you  know  you  're  hit. 
So,  just  to  picture  what  her  art  can  do, 
Hear  an  old  story  made  as  good  as  new. 

Rudolph,  professor  of  the  headsman's  trade, 
Alike  was  famous  for  his  arm  and  blade. 
One  day  a  prisoner  Justice  had  to  kill 
Knelt  at  the  block  to  test  the  artist's  skill. 
Bare-armed,  swart- visaged,  gaunt,  and  shaggy-browed, 
Rudolph  the  headsman  rose  above  the  crowd. 
His  falchion  lighted  with  a  sudden  gleam, 
As  the  pike's  armor  flashes  in  the  stream. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  505 

He  sheathed  his  blade  ;  he  turned  as  if  to  go ; 
The  victim  knelt,  still  waiting  for  the  blow. 
"  Why  strikest  not?    Perform  thy  murderous  act," 
The  prisoner  said.    (His  voice  was  slightly  cracked.) 

"  Friend,  I  have  struck,"  the  artist  straight  replied-, 

"  Wait  but  one  moment,  and  yourself  decide." 

He  held  his  snuff-box, —  ft  Now  then,  if  you  please!  " 

The  prisoner  sniffed,  and,  with  a  crashing  sneeze, 

Off  his  head  tumbled,  —  bowled  along  the  floor,  — 

Bounced  down  the  steps  ;  —  the  prisoner  said  no  more ! 

Woman  !  thy  falchion  is  a  glittering  eye ; 

If  death  lurks  in  it,  oh,  how  sweet  to  die  ! 

Thou  takest  hearts  as  Rudolph  took  the  head ; 

We  die  with  love,  and  never  dream  we  're  dead ! 

The  prologue  went  off  very  well,  as  I  hear.  No  alterations 
were  suggested  by  the  lady  to  whom  it  was  sent,  so  far  as  I  know. 
Sometimes  people  criticise  the  poems  one  sends  them,  and  sug 
gest  all  sorts  of  improvements.  Who  was  that  silly  body  that 
wanted  Burns  to  alter  "  Scots  wha  hae,"  so  as  to  lengthen  the  last 

line  thus  ?  — 

"  Edward  /  "   Chains  and  slavery  ! 

Here  is  a  little  poem  I  sent  a  short  time  since  to  a  committee 
for  a  certain  celebration.  I  understood  that  it  was  to  be  a  festive 
and  convivial  occasion,  and  ordered  myself  accordingly.  It  seems 
the  president  of  the  day  was  what  is  called  a  "  teetotaller."  I  received 
a  note  from  him  in  the  following  words,  containing  the  copy 
subjoined,  with  the  emendations  annexed  to  it. 

"Dear  Sir, — Your  poem  gives  good  satisfaction  to  the  com 
mittee.  The  sentiments  expressed  with  reference  to  liquor  are  not, 
however,  those  generally  entertained  by  this  community.  I  have 
therefore  consulted  the  clergyman  of  this  place,  who  has  made 
some  slight  changes,  which  he  thinks  will  remove  all  objections, 
and  keep  the  valuable  portions  of  the  poem.  Please  to  inform  me 
of  your  charge  for  said  poem.  Our  means  are  limited,  etc.,  etc., 
etc. 

11  Yours  with  respect." 


506        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

HERE  IT  IS.  — WITH  THE  SLIGHT  ALTERATIONS! 

Come!  fill  a  fresh  bumper,  —  for  why  should  we  go 

logwood 
While  the  nectar  still  reddens  our  cups  as  they  flow  ? 

decoction 
Pour  out  the  rich  juiceo  still  bright  with  the  sun, 

dye  stuff 
Till  o'er  the  brimmed  crystal  the  rubiotTshall  run. 

half-ripened  apples 
The  purple  globed  clucterc  their  life-dews  have  bled ; 

taste  sugar  of  lead 

How  sweet  is  the  breath  of  the  fragrance  they  ske4, 

rank  poisons  wines!! 7 

For  summer's  last  roses  lie  hid  in  the  wines 

stable-boys  smoking  long-nines 
That  were  garnered  by  maidens  wke  laughed  through  the  vmes. 

scowl  howl  scoff  sneer 

Then  a  smile,  and  a  glass^  and  a  taa&t,  and  a  choor, 

strychnine  and  whisky,  and  ratsbane  and  beer 
For  all  the  good  w-ia^  a«4  we  've  seme  ef  it  hete-! 
In  cellar,  in  pantry,  in  attic,  in  hall, 

Down,  down,  with  the  tyrant-that  masters  us  all! 
Leftff  live-  t-ke-  gay-  servant  tkafe  laugho  feF«s-aHr! 

The  company  said  I  had  been  shabbily  treated,  and  advised  me 
to  charge  the  committee  double,  —  which  I  did.  But  as  I  never 
got  my  pay,  I  don't  know  that  it  made  much  difference.  I  am  a 
very  particular  person  about  having  all  I  write  printed  as  I  write 
it.  I  require  to  see  a  proof,  a  revise,  a  re-revise,  and  a  double 
re-revise,  or  fourth-proof  rectified  impression  of  all  my  productions, 
especially  verse.  Manuscripts  are  such  puzzles !  Why,  I  was  read 
ing  some  lines  near  the  end  of  the  last  number  of  this  journal, 
when  I  came  across  one  beginning 

The  stream  flashes  by, 

Now  as  no  stream  had  been  mentioned,  I  was  perplexed  to  know 
what  it  meant.  It  proved,  on  inquiry,  to  be  only  a  mis-print  for 
"  dream."  Think  of  it !  No  wonder  so  many  poets  die  young. 

I  have  nothing  more  to  report  at  this  time,  except  two  pieces 
of  advice  I  gave  to  the  young  women  at  table.  One  relates  to  a 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  507 

vulgarism  of  language,  which  I  grieve  to  say  is  sometimes  heard  even 
from  female  lips,  the  other  is  of  more  serious  purport,  and  applies 
to  such  as  contemplate  a  change  of  condition,  —  matrimony,  in  fact. 

-The  woman  who  "  calc'lates  "  is  lost. 
—  Put  not  your  trust  in  money,  but  put  your  money  in  trust. 


HENRY  THOREAU 

[Born  at  Concord,  Massachusetts,  July  12,  1817;  died  at  Concord,  May  6, 1862] 

SOLITUDE 
FROM   "  WALDEN  " 

This  is  a  delicious  evening,  when  the  whole  body  is  one  sense, 
and  imbibes  delight  through  every  pore.  I  go  and  come  with  a 
strange  liberty  in  Nature,  a  part  of  herself.  As  I  walk  along  the 
stony  shore  to  the  pond  in  my  shirt-sleeves,  though  it  is  cool  as 
well  as  cloudy  and  windy,  and  I  see  nothing  special  to  attract  me, 
all  the  elements  are  unusually  congenial  to  me.  The  bullfrogs  trump 
to  usher  in  the  night,  and  the  note  of  the  whippoorwill  is  borne  on 
the  rippling  wind  from  over  the  water.  Sympathy  with  the  flutter 
ing  alder  and  poplar  leaves  almost  takes  away  my  breath  ;  yet,  like 
the  lake,  my  serenity  is  rippled  but  not  ruffled.  These  small  waves 
raised  by  the  evening  wind  are  as  remote  from  storm  as  the  smooth 
reflecting  surface.  Though  it  is  now  dark,  the  wind  still  blows  and 
roars  in  the  wood,  the  waves  still  dash,  and  some  creatures  lull  the 
rest  with  their  notes.  The  repose  is  never  complete.  The  wildest 
animals  do  not  repose,  but  seek  their  prey  now  ;  the  fox,  and  skunk, 
and  rabbit,  now  roam  the  fields  and  woods  without  fear.  They  are 
Nature's  watchmen, — links  which  connect  the  days  of  animated  life. 

When  I  return  to  my  house  I  find  that  visitors  have  been  there 
and  left  their  cards,  either  a  bunch  of  flowers,  or  a  wreath  of  ever 
green,  or  a  name  in  pencil  on  a  yellow  walnut  leaf  or  a  chip.  They 
who  come  rarely  to  the  woods  take  some  little  piece  of  the  forest 
into  their  hands  to  play  with  by  the  way,  which  they  leave,  either 
intentionally  or  accidentally.  One  has  peeled  a  willow  wand,  woven 
it  into  a  ring,  and  dropped  it  on  my  table.  I  could  always  tell  if 


508        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

visitors  had  called  in  my  absence,  either  by  the  bended  twigs  or 
grass,  or  the  print  of  their  shoes,  and  generally  of  what  sex  or  age 
or  quality  they  were  by  some  slight  trace  left,  as  a  flower  dropped, 
or  a  bunch  of  grass  plucked  and  thrown  away,  even  as  far  off  as 
the  railroad,  half  a  mile  distant,  or  by  the  lingering  odor  of  a  cigar 
or  pipe.  Nay,  I  was  frequently  notified  of  the  passage  of  a  traveller 
along  the  highway  sixty  rods  off  by  the  scent  of  his  pipe. 

There  is  commonly  sufficient  space  about  us.  Our  horizon  is 
never  quite  at  our  elbows.  The  thick  wood  is  not  just  at  our  door, 
nor  the  pond,  but  somewhat  is  always  clearing,  familiar  and  worn 
by  us,  appropriated  and  fenced  in  some  way,  and  reclaimed  from 
Nature.  For  what  reason  have  I  this  vast  range  and  circuit,  some 
square  miles  of  unfrequented  forest,  for  my  privacy,  abandoned  to 
me  by  men  ?  My  nearest  neighbor  is  a  mile  distant,  and  no  house 
is  visible  from  any  place  but  the  hill-tops  within  half  a  mile  of  my 
own.  I  have  my  horizon  bounded  by  woods  all  to  myself  ;  a  distant 
view  of  the  railroad  where  it  touches  the  pond  on  the  one  hand, 
and  of  the  fence  which  skirts  the  woodland  road  on  the  other.  But 
for  the  most  part  it  is  as  solitary  where  I  live  as  on  the  prairies. 
It  is  as  much  Asia  or  Africa  as  New  England.  I  have,  as  it  were, 
my  own  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  and  a  little  world  all  to  myself. 
At  night  there  was  never  a  traveller  passed  my  house,  or  knocked 
at  my  door,  more  than  if  I  were  the  first  or  last  man  ;  unless  it 
were  in  the  spring,  when  at  long  intervals  some  came  from  the 
village  to  fish  for  pouts,  —  they  plainly  fished  much  more  in  the 
Walden  Pond  of  their  own  natures,  and  baited  their  hooks  with 
darkness,  —  but  they  soon  retreated,  usually  with  light  baskets, 
and  left  "  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me,"  and  the  black  kernel 
of  the  night  was  never  profaned  by  any  human  neighborhood. 
I  believe  that  men  are  generally  still  a  little  afraid  of  the  dark, 
though  the  witches  are  all  hung,  and  Christianity  and  candles 
have  been  introduced. 

Yet  I  experienced  sometimes  that  the  most  sweet  and  tender, 
the  most  innocent  and  encouraging  society  may  be  found  in  any 
natural  object,  even  for  the  poor  misanthrope  and  most  melancholy 
man.  There  can  be  no  very  black  melancholy  to  him  who  lives  in 
the  midst  of  Nature  and  has  his  senses  still.  There  was  never  yet 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  509 

such  a  storm  but  it  was  yEolian  music  to  a  healthy  and  innocent 
ear.  Nothing  can  rightly  compel  a  simple  and  brave  man  to  a  vulgar 
sadness.  While  I  enjoy  the  friendship  of  the  seasons  I  trust  that 
nothing  can  make  life  a  burden  to  me.  The  gentle  rain  which 
waters  my  beans  and  keeps  me  in  the  house  to-day  is  not  drear 
and  melancholy,  but  good  for  me  too.  Though  it  prevents  my 
hoeing  them,  it  is  far  more  worth  than  my  hoeing.  If  it  should 
continue  so  long  as  to  cause  the  seeds  to  rot  in  the  ground  and 
destroy  the  potatoes  in  the  lowlands,  it  would  still  be  good  for  the 
grass  on  the  uplands,  and,  being  good  for  the  grass,  it  would  be 
good  for  me.  Sometimes,  when  I  compare  myself  with  other  men, 
it  seems  as  if  I  were  more  favored  by  the  gods  than  they,  beyond 
any  deserts  that  I  am  conscious  of  ;  as  if  I  had  a  warrant  and  surety 
at  their  hands  which  my  fellows  have  not,  and  were  especially 
guided  and  guarded.  I  do  not  flatter  myself,  but  if  it  be  possible 
they  flatter  me.  I  have  never  felt  lonesome,  or  in  the  least  oppressed 
by  a  sense  of  solitude,  but  once,  and  that  was  a  few  weeks  after  I 
came  to  the  woods,  when,  for  an  hour,  I  doubted  if  the  near  neighbor 
hood  of  man  was  not  essential  to  a  serene  and  healthy  life.  To  be 
alone  was  something  unpleasant.  But  I  was  at  the  'same  time  con 
scious  of  a  slight  insanity  in  my  mood,  and  seemed  to  foresee  my 
recovery.  In  the  midst  of  a  gentle  rain  while  these  thoughts  pre 
vailed,  I  was  suddenly  sensible  of  such  sweet  and  beneficent  society 
in  Nature,  in  the  very  pattering  of  the  drops,  and  in  every  sound 
and  sight  around  my  house,  an  infinite  and  unaccountable  friend 
liness  all  at  once  like  an  atmosphere  sustaining  me,  as  made  the 
fancied  advantages  of  human  neighborhood  insignificant,  and  I 
have  never  thought  of  them  since.  Every  little  pine  needle  ex 
panded  and  swelled  with  sympathy  and  befriended  me.  I  was  so 
distinctly  made  aware  of  the  presence  of  something  kindred  to  me, 
even  in  scenes  which  we  are  accustomed  to  call  wild  and  dreary, 
and  also  that  the  nearest  of  blood  to  me  and  humanest  was  not  a 
person  nor  a  villager,  that  I  thought  no  place  could  ever  be  strange 
to  me  again.  — 

"  Mourning  untimely  consumes  the  sad ; 
Few  are  their  days  in  the  land  of  the  living, 
Beautiful  daughter  of  Toscar." 


510         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Some  of  my  pleasantest  hours  were  during  the  long  rainstorms 
in  the  spring  or  fall,  which  confined  me  to  the  house  for  the  after 
noon  as  well  as  the  forenoon,  soothed  by  their  ceaseless  roar  and 
pelting ;  when  an  early  twilight  ushered  in  a  long  evening  in  which 
many  thoughts  had  time  to  take  root  and  unfold  themselves.  In 
those  driving  northeast  rains  which  tried  the  village  houses  so, 
when  the  maids  stood  ready  with  mop  and  pail  in  front  entries  to 
keep  the  deluge  out,  I  sat  behind  my  door  in  my  little  house,  which 
was  all  entry,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  its  protection.  In  one  heavy 
thunder-shower  the  lightning  struck  a  large  pitch-pine  across  the 
pond,  making  a  very  conspicuous  and  perfectly  regular  spiral  groove 
from  top  to  bottom,  an  inch  or  more  deep,  and  four  or  five  inches 
wide,  as  you  would  groove  a  walking-stick.  I  passed  it  again  the 
other  day,  and  was  struck  with  awe  on  looking  up  and  beholding 
that  mark,  now  more  distinct  than  ever,  where  a  terrific  and  resist 
less  bolt  came  down  out  of  the  harmless  sky  eight  years  ago.  Men 
frequently  say  to  me,  "  I  should  think  you  would  feel  lonesome 
down  there,  and  want  to  be  nearer  to  folks,  rainy  and  snowy  days 
and  nights  especially."  I  am  tempted  to  reply  to  such,  —  This 
whole  earth  which  we  inhabit  is  but  a  point  in  space.  How  far 
apart,  think  you,  dwell  the  two  most  distant  inhabitants  of  yonder 
star,  the  breadth  of  whose  disk  cannot  be  appreciated  by  our  instru 
ments  ?  Why  should  I  feel  lonely  ?  is  not  our  planet  in  the  Milky 
Way  ?  This  which  you  put  seems  to  me  not  to  be  the  most  im 
portant  question.  What  sort  of  space  is  that  which  separates  a  man 
from  his  fellows  and  makes  him  solitary  ?  I  have  found  that  no 
exertion  of  the  legs  can  bring  two  minds  much  nearer  to  one  an 
other.  What  do  we  want  most  to  dwell  near  to  ?  Not  to  many 
men  surely,  the  depot,  the  post-office,  the  bar-room,  the  meeting 
house,  the  schoolhouse,  the  grocery,  Beacon  Hill,  or  the  Five 
Points,  where  men  most  congregate,  but  to  the  perennial  source 
of  our  life,  whence  in  all  our  experience  we  have  found  that  to 
issue,  as  the  willow  stands  near  the  water  and  sends  out  its  roots 
in  that  direction.  This  will  vary  with  different  natures,  but  this 
is  the  place  where  a  wise  man  will  dig  his  cellar.  ...  I  one  eve 
ning  overtook  one  of  my  townsmen,  who  has  accumulated  what 
is  called  "a  handsome  property,"  —  though  I  never  got  a  fair 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  511 

view  of  it,  —  on  the  Walden  road,  driving  a  pair  of  cattle  to 
market,  who  inquired  of  me  how  I  could  bring  my  mind  to  give 
up  so  many  of  the  comforts  of  life.  I  answered  that  I  was  very 
sure  I  liked  it  passably  well ;  I  was  not  joking.  And  so  I  went 
home  to  my  bed,  and  left  him  to  pick  his  way  through  the  dark 
ness  and  the  mud  to  Brighton,  —  or  Brighttown,  —  which  place 
he  would  reach  some  time  in  the  morning. 

Any  prospect  of  awakening  or  coming  to  life  to  a  dead  man 
makes  indifferent  all  times  and  places.  The  place  where  that  may 
occur  is  always  the  same,  and  indescribably  pleasant  to  all  our 
senses.  For  the  most  part  we  allow  only  outlying  and  transient 
circumstances  to  make  our  occasions.  They  are,  in  fact,  the  cause 
of  our  distraction.  Nearest  to  all  things  is  that  power  which  fash 
ions  their  being.  Next  to  us  the  grandest  laws  are  continually  be 
ing  executed.  Next  to  us  is  not  the  workman  whom  we  have  hired, 
with  whom  we  love  so  well  to  talk,  but  the  workman  whose  work 
we  are. 

11  How  vast  and  profound  is  the  influence  of  the  subtile  powers 
of  Heaven  and  of  Earth  !  " 

"  We  seek  to  perceive  them,  and  we  do  not  see  them  ;  we  seek 
to  hear  them,  and  we  do  not  hear  them ;  identified  with  the  sub 
stance  of  things,  they  cannot  be  separated  from  them." 

"  They  cause  that  in  all  the  universe  men  purify  and  sanctify 
their  hearts,  and  clothe  themselves  in  their  holiday  garments  to 
offer  sacrifices  and  oblations  to  their  ancestors.  It  is  an  ocean  of 
subtile  intelligences.  They  are  everywhere,  above  us,  on  our  left, 
on  our  right ;  they  environ  us  on  all  sides." 

We  are  the  subjects  of  an  experiment  which  is  not  a  little  inter 
esting  to  me.  Can  we  not  do  without  the  society  of  our  gossips  a 
little  while  under  these  circumstances,  —  have  our  own  thoughts 
to  cheer  us?  Confucius  says  truly,  "  Virtue  does  not  remain  as 
an  abandoned  orphan  ;  it  must  of  necessity  have  neighbors." 

With  thinking  we  may  be  beside  ourselves  in  a  sane  sense.  By 
a  conscious  effort  of  the  mind  we  can  stand  aloof  from  actions  and 
their  consequences  ;  and  all  things,  good  and  bad,  go  by  us  like  a 
torrent.  We  are  not  wholly  involved  in  Nature.  I  may  be  either 
the  driftwood  in  the  stream,  or  Indra  in  the  sky  looking  down  on 


512         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

it.  I  may  be  affected  by  a  theatrical  exhibition  ;  on  the  other  hand, 
I  may  not  be  affected  by  an  actual  event  which  appears  to  concern 
me  much  more.  I  only  know  myself  as  a  human  entity  ;  the  scene, 
so  to  speak,  of  thoughts  and  affections  ;  and  am  sensible  of  a  certain 
doubleness  by  which  I  can  stand  as  remote  from  myself  as  from 
another.  However  intense  my  experience,  I  am  conscious  of  the 
presence  and  criticism  of  a  part  of  me,  which,  as  it  were,  is  not  a 
part  of  me,  but  spectator,  sharing  no  experience,  but  taking  note 
of  it ;  and  that  is  no  more  I  than  it  is  you.  When  the  play,  it  may 
be  the  tragedy,  of  life  is  over,  the  spectator  goes  his  way.  It  was 
a  kind  of  fiction,  a  work  of  the  imagination  only,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  This  doubleness  may  easily  make  us  poor  neighbors 
and  friends  sometimes. 

I  find  it  wholesome  to  be  alone  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  To 
be  in  company,  even  with  the  best,  is  soon  wearisome  and  dissipat 
ing.  I  love  to  be  alone.  I  never  found  the  companion  that  was  so 
companionable  as  solitude.  We  are  for  the  most  part  more  lonely 
when  we  go  abroad  among  men  than  when  we  stay  in  our  chambers. 
A  man  thinking  or  working  is  always  alone,  let  him  be  where  he 
will.  Solitude  is  not  measured  by  the  miles  of  space  that  intervene 
between  a  man  and  his  fellows.  The  really  diligent  student  in  one 
of  the  crowded  hives  of  Cambridge  College  is  as  solitary  as  a  dervish 
in  the  desert.  The  farmer  can  work  alone  in  the  field  or  the  woods 
all  day,  hoeing  or  chopping,  and  not  feel  lonesome,  because  he  is 
employed  ;  but  when  he  comes  home  at  night  he  cannot  sit  down 
in  a  room  alone,  at  the  mercy  of  his  thoughts,  but  must  be  where 
he  can  "  see  the  folks,"  and  recreate,  and  as  he  thinks  remunerate, 
himself  for  his  day's  solitude  ;  and  hence  he  wonders  how  the 
student  can  sit  alone  in  the  house  all  night  and  most  of  the  day 
without  ennui  and  "the  blues  "  ;  but  he  does  not  realize  that  the 
student,  though  in  the  house,  is  still  at  work  in  his  field,  and 
chopping  in  his  woods,  as  the  farmer  in  his,  and  in  turn  seeks  the 
same  recreation  and  society  that  the  latter  does,  though  it  may  be 
a  more  condensed  form  of  it. 

Society  is  commonly  too  cheap.  We  meet  at  very  short  intervals, 
not  having  had  time  to  acquire  any  new  value  for  each  other.  We 
meet  at  meals  three  times  a  day,  and  give  each  other  a  new  taste 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  513 

of  that  old  musty  cheese  that  we  are.  We  have  had  to.  agree  on  a 
certain  set  of  rules,  called  etiquette  and  politeness,  to  make  this 
frequent  meeting  tolerable  and  that  we  need  not  come  to  open  war. 
We  meet  at  the  post-office,  and  at  the  sociable,  and  about  the  fire 
side  every  night ;  we  live  thick  and  are  in  each  other's  way,  and 
stumble  over  one  another,  and  I  think  that  we  thus  lose  some 
respect  for  one  another.  Certainly  less  frequency  would  suffice  for 
all  important  and  hearty  communications.  Consider  the  girls  in  a 
factory,  —  never  alone,  hardly  in  their  dreams.  It  would  be  better 
if  there  were  but  one  inhabitant  to  a  square  mile,  as  where  I  live. 
The  value  of  a  man  is  not  in  his  skin,  that  we  should  touch  him. 

I  have  heard  of  a  man  lost  in  the  woods  and  dying  of  famine 
and  exhaustion  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  whose  loneliness  was  relieved 
by  the  grotesque  visions  with  which,  owing  to  bodily  weakness,  his 
diseased  imagination  surrounded  him,  and  which  he  believed  to  be 
real.  So  also,  owing  to  bodily  and  mental  health  and  strength,  we 
may  be  continually  cheered  by  a  like  but  more  normal  and  natural 
society,  and  come  to  know  that  we  are  never  alone. 

I  have  a  great  deal  of  company  in  my  house ;  especially  in  the 
morning,  when  nobody  calls.  Let  me  suggest  a  few  comparisons, 
that  some  one  may  convey  an  idea  of  my  situation.  I  am  no  more 
lonely  than  the  loon  in  the  pond  that  laughs  so  loud,  or  than  Walden 
Pond  itself.  What  company  has  that  lonely  lake,  I  pray  ?  And  yet 
it  has  not  the  blue  devils,  but  the  blue  angels  in  it,  in  the  azure 
tint  of  its  waters.  The  sun  is  alone,  except  in  thick  weather,  when 
there  sometimes  appear  to  be  two,  but  one  is  a  mock  sun.  God  is 
alone,  —  but  the  devil,  he  is  far  from  being  alone  ;  he  sees  a  great 
deal  of  company  ;  he  is  legion.  I  am  no  more  lonely  than  a  single 
mullein  or  dandelion  in  a  pasture,  or  a  bean  leaf,  or  sorrel,  or  a 
horse-fly,  or  a  humble-bee.  I  am  no  more  lonely  than  the  Mill 
Brook,  or  a  weathercock,  or  the  north  star,  or  the  south  wind,  or  an 
April  shower,  or  a  January  thaw,  or  the  first  spider  in  a  new  house. 

I  have  occasional  visits  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  when  the 
snow  falls  fast  and  the  wind  howls  in  the  wood,  from  an  old  settler 
and  original  proprietor,  who  is  reported  to  have  dug  Walden  Pond, 
and  stoned  it,  and  fringed  it  with  pine  woods  ;  who  tells  me  stories 
of  old  time  and  of  new  eternity ;  and  between  us  we  manage  to 


514        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

pass  a  cheerful  evening  with  social  mirth  and  pleasant  views  of 
things,  even  without  apples  or  cider,  —  a  most  wise  and  humorous 
friend,  whom  I  love  much,  who  keeps  himself  more  secret  than 
ever  did  Goffe  or  Whalley  ;  and  though  he  is  thought  to  be  dead, 
none  can  show  where  he  is  buried.  An  elderly  dame,  too,  dwells 
in  my  neighborhood,  invisible  to  most  persons,  in  whose  odorous 
herb  garden  I  love  to  stroll  sometimes,  gathering  simples  and  listen 
ing  to  her  fables  ;  for  she  has  a  genius  of  unequalled  fertility,  and 
her  memory  runs  back  farther  than  mythology,  and  she  can  tell 
me  the  original  of  every  fable,  and  on  what  fact  every  one  is 
founded,  for  the  incidents  occurred  when  she  was  young.  A  ruddy 
and  lusty  old  dame,  who  delights  in  all  weathers  and  seasons,  and 
is  likely  to  outlive  all  her  children  yet. 

The  indescribable  innocence  and  beneficence  of  Nature,  —  of 
sun  and  wind  and  rain,  of  summer  and  winter,  —  such  health,  such 
cheer,  they  afford  forever  !  and  such  sympathy  have  they  ever  with 
our  race,  that  all  Nature  would  be  affected,  and  the  sun's  bright 
ness  fade,  and  the  winds  would  sigh  humanely,  and  the  clouds  rain 
tears,  and  the  woods  shed  their  leaves  and  put  on  mourning  in  mid 
summer,  if  any  man  should  ever  for  a  just  cause  grieve.  Shall  I 
not  have  intelligence  with  the  earth  ?  Am  I  not  partly  leaves  and 
vegetable  mould  myself  ? 

What  is  the  pill  which  will  keep  us  well,  serene,  contented  ?  Not 
my  or  thy  great-grandfather's,  but  our  great-grandmother  Nature's 
universal,  vegetable,  botanic  medicines,  by  which  she  has  kept  her 
self  young  always,  outlived  so  many  old  Parrs  in  her  day,  and  fed 
her  health  with  their  decayed  fatness.  For  my  panacea,  instead  of 
one  of  those  quack  vials  of  a  mixture  dipped  from  Acheron  and 
the  Dead  Sea,  which  come  out  of  those  long  shallow  black-schooner 
looking  wagons  which  we  sometimes  see  made  to  carry  bottles,  let 
me  have  a  draught  of  undiluted  morning  air.  Morning  air  !  If  men 
will  not  drink  of  this  at  the  fountain-head  of  the  day,  why,  then, 
we  must  even  bottle  up  some  and  sell  it  in  the  shops,  for  the  benefit 
of  those  who  have  lost  their  subscription  ticket  to  morning  time  in 
this  world.  But  remember,  it  will  not  keep  quite  till  noonday  even 
in  the  coolest  cellar,  but  drive  out  the  stopples  long  ere  that  and 
follow  westward  the  steps  of  Aurora.  I  am  no  worshipper  of 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  515 

Hygeia,  who  was  the  daughter  of  that  old  herb-doctor  ^Esculapius, 
and  who  is  represented  on  monuments  holding  a  serpent  in  one 
hand,  and  in  the  other  a  cup  out  of  which  the  serpent  sometimes 
drinks ;  but  rather  of  Hebe,  cupbearer  to  Jupiter,  who  was  the 
daughter  of  Juno  and  wild  lettuce,  and  who  had  the  power  of  re 
storing  gods  and  men  to  the  vigor  of  youth.  She  was  probably  the 
only  thoroughly  sound-conditioned,  healthy,  and  robust  young  lady 
that  ever  walked  the  globe,  and  wherever  she  came  it  was  spring. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

[Born  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  February  22,  1819;  died  at  Cambridge, 

August  12,  1891] 

MY  LOVE 

Not  as  all  other  women  are 
Is  she  that  to  my  soul  is  dear ; 
Her  glorious  fancies  come  from  far, 
Beneath  the  silver  evening  star, 
And  yet  her  heart  is  ever  near. 

Great  feelings  hath  she  of  her  own, 
Which  lesser  souls  may  never  know ; 
God  giveth  them  to  her  alone, 
And  sweet  they  are  as  any  tone 
.  Wherewith  the  wind  may  choose  to  blow. 

Yet  in  herself  she  dwelleth  not, 
Although  no  home  were  half  so  fair ; 
No  simplest  duty  is  forgot, 
Life  hath  no  dim  and  lowly  spot 
That  doth  not  in  her  sunshine  share. 

She  doeth  little  kindnesses, 

Which  most  leave  undone,  or  despise ; 

For  naught  that  sets  one  heart  at  ease, 

And  giveth  happiness  or  peace, 

Is  low  esteemed  in  her  eyes. 


5i6        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

She  hath  no  scorn  of  common  things, 
And,  though  she  seem  of  other  birth, 
Round  us  her  heart  intwines  and  clings, 
And  patiently  she  folds  her  wings 
To  tread  the  humble  paths  of  earth. 

Blessing  she  is  :  God  made  her  so, 
And  deeds  of  week-day  holiness 
Fall  from  her  noiseless  as  the  snow, 
Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 
That  aught  were  easier  than  to  bless. 

She  is  tnost  fair,  and  thereunto 
Her  life  doth  rightly  harmonize ; 
Feeling  or  thought  that  was  not  true 
Ne'er  made  less  beautiful  the  blue 
Unclouded  heaven  of  her  eyes. 

She  is  a  woman  :  one  in  whom 
The  spring-time  of  her  childish  years 
Hath  never  lost  its  fresh  perfume, 
Though  knowing  well  that  life  hath  room 
For  many  blights  and  many  tears. 

I  love  her  with  a  love  as  still 
As  a  broad  river's  peaceful  might, 
Which,  by  high  tower  and  lowly  mill, 
Seems  following  its  own  wayward  will, 
And  yet  doth  ever  flow  aright. 

And,  on  its  full,  deep  breast  serene, 

Like  quiet  isles  my  duties  lie ; 

It  flows  around  them  and  between, 

And  makes  them  fresh  and  fair  and  green, 

Sweet  homes  wherein  to  live  and  die. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  517 

SHE  CAME  AND  WENT 

As  a  twig  trembles,  which  a  bird 

Lights  on  to  sing,  then  leaves  unbent, 

So  is  my  memory  thrilled  and  stirred  ;  — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 

As  clasps  some  lake,  by  gusts  unriven, 
The  blue  dome's  measureless  content, 

So  my  soul  held  that  moment's  heaven  ;  — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 

As,  at  one  bound,  our  swift  spring  heaps 
The  orchards  full  of  bloom  and  scent, 

So  clove  her  May  my  wintry  sleeps  ;  — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 

An  angel  stood  and  met  my  gaze, 

Through  the  low  doorway  of  my  tent ; 

The  tent  is  struck,  the  vision  stays  ;  — 
I  only  know  she  came  and  went. 

O,  when  the  room  grows  slowly  dim, 

And  life's  last  oil  is  nearly  spent, 
'One  gush  of  light  these  eyes  will  brim, 

Only  to  think  she  came  and  went. 

TO  THE  DANDELION 

Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the  way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 

First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride  uphold, 

High-hearted  buccaneers,  o'er  joyed  that  they 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found, 
Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 

May  match  in  wealth,  thou  art  more  dear  to  me 

Than  all  the  prouder  summer-blooms  may  be. 


518        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Gold  such  as  thine  ne'er  drew  the  Spanish  prow 
Through  the  primeval  hush  of  Indian  seas, 

Nor  wrinkled  the  lean  brow 
Of  age,  to  rob  the  lover's  heart  of  ease ; 

'T  is  the  Spring's  largess,  which  she  scatters  now 
To  rich  and  poor  alike,  with  lavish  hand, 
Though  most  hearts  never  understand 

To  take  it  at  God's  value,  but  pass  by 

The  offered  wealth  with  unrewarded  eye. 

Thou  art  my  tropics  and  mine  Italy ; 
To  look  at  thee  unlocks  a  warmer  clime ; 

The  eyes  thou  givest  me 
Are  in  the  heart,  and  heed  not  space  or  time : 

Not  in  mid  June  the  golden  cuirassed  bee 
Feels  a  more  summer-like  warm  ravishment 
In  the  white  lily's  breezy  tent, 

His  fragrant  Sybaris,  than  I,  when  first 

From  the  dark  green  thy  yellow  circles  burst. 

Then  think  I  of  deep  shadows  on  the  grass, 
Of  meadows  where  in  sun  the  cattle  graze, 

Where,  as  the  breezes  pass, 
The  gleaming  rushes  lean  a  thousand  ways,    . 

Of  leaves  that  slumber  in  a  cloudy  mass, 
Or  whiten  in  the  wind,  of  waters  blue 
That  from  the  distance  sparkle  through 

Some  woodland  gap,  and  of  a  sky  above, 

Where  one  white  cloud  like  a  stray  lamb  doth  move. 

My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked  with  thee ; 
The  sight  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song, 

Who  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door,  sang  clearly  all  day  long, 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety, 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 
With  news  from  heaven,  which  he  could  bring 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  519 

Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears 
When  birds  and  flowers  were  happy  peers. 


How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem, 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art ! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 
More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart, 

Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 
Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret  sho\* 
Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe, 

And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 

On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book. 


THE  FIRST  SNOW-FALL 

The  snow  had  begun  in  the  gloaming, 

And  busily  all  the  night 
Had  been  heaping  field  and  highway 

With  a  silence  deep  and  white. 

Every  pine  and  fir  and  hemlock 
Wore  ermine  too  dear  for  an  earl, 

And  the  poorest  twig  on  the  elm-tree 
Was  ridged  inch  deep  with  pearl. 

From  sheds  new-roofed  with  Carrara 
Came  Chanticleer's  muffled  crow, 

The  stiff  rails  were  softened  to  swan's-down, 
And  still  fluttered  down  the  snow. 

I  stood  and  watched  by  the  window 

The  noiseless  work  of  the  sky, 
And  the  sudden  flurries  of  snow-birds, 

Like  brown  leaves  whirling  by. 


520        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

I  thought  of  a  mound  in  sweet  Auburn 
Where  a  little  headstone  stood  ; 

How  the  flakes  were  folding  it  gently, 
As  did  robins  the  babes  in  the  wood. 

Up  spoke  our  own  little  Mabel, 

Saying,  "  Father,  who  makes  it  snow  ?  " 

And  I  told  of  the  good  All-father 
Who  cares  for  us  here  below. 

Again  I  looked  at  the  snow-fall, 
And  thought  of  the  leaden  sky 

That  arched  o'er  our  first  great  sorrow, 
When  that  mound  was  heaped  so  high. 

I  remembered  the  gradual  patience 
That  fell  from  that  cloud  like  snow, 

Flake  by  flake,  healing  and  hiding 
The  scar  of  our  deep-plunged  woe. 

And  again  to  the  child  I  whispered, 

"  The  snow  that  husheth  all, 
Darling,  the  merciful  Father 

Alone  can  make  it  fall !  " 

Then,  with  eyes  that  saw  not,  I  kissed  her ; 

And  she,  kissing  back,  could  not  know 
That  my  kiss  was  given  to  her  sister, 

Folded  close  under  deepening  snow. 


ALADDIN 

When  I  was  a  beggarly  boy, 
And  lived  in  a  cellar  damp, 

I  had  not  a  friend  nor  a  toy, 
But  I  had  Aladdin's  lamp  ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  521 

When  I  could  not  sleep  for  cold, 

I  had  fire  enough  in  my  brain, 
And  builded,  with  roofs  of  gold, 

My  beautiful  castles  in  Spain ! 

Since  then  I  have  toiled  day  and  night, 

I  have  money  and  power  good  store, 
But  I  'd  give  all  my  lamps  of  silver  bright, 

For  the  one  that  is  mine  no  more  ; 
Take,  Fortune,  whatever  you  choose, 

You  gave,  and  may  snatch  again  ; 
I  have  nothing  't  would  pain  me  to  lose, 

For  I  own  no  more  castles  in  Spain ! 

LONGING 

Of  all  the  myriad  moods  of  mind 

That  through  the  soul  come  thronging 
Which  one  was  e'er  so  dear,  so  kind, 

So  beautiful  as  Longing  ? 
The  thing  we  long  for,  that  we  are 

For  one  transcendent  moment, 
Before  the  Present  poor  and  bare 

Can  make  its  sneering  comment. 

Still,  through  our  paltry  stir  and  strife, 

Glows  down  the  wished  Ideal, 
And  Longing  moulds  in  clay  what  Life 

Carves  in  the  marble  Real ; 
To  let  the  new  life  in,  we  know, 

Desire  must  ope  the  portal ;  — 
Perhaps  the  longing  to  be  so 

Helps  make  the  soul  immortal. 

Longing  is  God's  fresh  heavenward  will 

With  our  poor  earthward  striving ; 
We  quench  it  that  we  may  be  still 

Content  with  merely  living ; 


522         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But,  would  we  learn  that  heart's  full  scope 
Which  we  are  hourly  wronging, 

Our  lives  must  climb  from  hope  to  hope 
And  realize  our  longing. 

Ah  !  let  us  hope  that  to  our  praise 

Good  God  not  only  reckons 
The  moments  when  we  tread  his  ways, 

But  when  the  spirit  beckons,  — 
That  some  slight  good  is  also  wrought 

Beyond  self-satisfaction, 
When  we  are  simply  good  in  thought, 

Howe'er  we  fail  in  action. 


SONNET 

Great  Truths  are  portions  of  the  soul  of  man ; 

Great  souls  are  portions  of  Eternity  ; 

Each  drop  of  blood  that  e'er  through  true  heart  ran 

With  lofty  message,  ran  for  thee  and  me  ; 

For  God's  law,  since  the  starry  song  began, 

Hath  been,  and  still  for  evermore  must  be, 

That  every  deed  which  shall  outlast  Time's  span 

Must  spur  the  soul  to  be  erect  and  free ; 

Slave  is  no  word  of  deathless  lineage  sprung  ; 

Too  many  noble  souls  have  thought  and  died, 

Too  many  mighty  poets  lived  and  sung, 

And  our  good  Saxon,  from  lips  purified 

With  martyr-fire,  throughout  the  world  hath  rung 

Too  long  to  have  God's  holy  cause  denied. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  523 

WHAT  MR.  ROBINSON  THINKS 

FROM  "  THE  BIGLOW  PAPERS  " 

SERIES  I 

Guvener  B.  is  a  sensible  man ; 

He  stays  to  his  home  an'  looks  arter  his  folks ; 
He  draws  his  furrer  ez  straight  ez  he  can, 
An'  into  nobody's  tater-patch  pokes ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

My  !  aint  it  terrible  ?  Wut  shall  we  du  ? 

We  can't  never  choose  him  o'  course,  —  thet  's  flat ; 
Guess  we  shall  hev  to  come  round,  (don't  you  ?) 
An'  go  in  fer  thunder  an'  guns,  an'  all  that ; 
Fer  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

Gineral  C.  is  a  dreffle  smart  man  : 

He  's  ben  on  all  sides  thet  give  places  or  pelf ; 
But  consistency  still  wuz  a  part  of  his  plan,  — 

He  's  ben  true  to  one  party,  —  an'  thet  is  himself  ;  — 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 

Gineral  C.  he  goes  in  fer  the  war ; 

He  don't  vally  principle  more  'n  an  old  cud  ; 
Wut  did  God  make  us  raytional  creeturs  fer, 
But  glory  an'  gunpowder,  plunder  an'  blood  ? 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 


524        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

We  were  gittin'  on  nicely  up  here  to  our  village, 

With  good  old  idees  o'  wut  's  right  an'  wut  aint, 
We  kind  o'  thought  Christ  went  agin  war  an'  pillage, 
An'  thet  eppyletts  worn't  the  best  mark  of  a  saint ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  kind  o'  thing  's  an  exploded  idee. 

The  side  of  our  country  must  oilers  be  took, 

An'  Presidunt  Polk,  you  know,  he  is  our  country. 
An'  the  angel  thet  writes  all  our  sins  in  a  book 
Puts  the  debit  to  him,  an'  to  us  the/^r  contry  ; 
An'  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  is  his  view  o'  the  thing  to  a  T. 

Parson  Wilbur  he  calls  all  these  argimunts  lies ; 

Sez  they  're  nothin'  on  airth  but  }^^fee^fawtfum: 
An'  thet  all  this  big  talk  of  our  destinies 
Is  half  on  it  ign'ance,  an'  t'  other  half  rum ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  it  aint  no  sech  thing  ;  an',  of  course,  so  must  we. 

Parson  Wilbur  sez  he  never  heerd  in  his  life 

Thet  th'  Apostles  rigged  out  in  their  swaller-tail  coats, 
An'  marched  round  in  front  of  a  drum  an'  a  fife, 
To  git  some  on  'em  office,  an'  some  on  'em  votes ; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  they  did  n't  know  every  thin'  down  in  Judee. 

Wai,  it 's  a  marcy  we  've  gut  folks  to  tell  us 

The  rights  an'  the  wrongs  o'  these  matters,  I  vow,  — 
God  sends  country  lawyers,  an'  other  wise  fellers, 
To  start  the  world's  team  wen  it  gits  in  a  slough ; 
Per  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  the  world  '11  go  right,  ef  he  hollers  out  Gee ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  525 

THE  COURTIN' 

FROM  "  THE  BIGLOW  PAPERS  " 

SERIES  II 

God  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an'  still 

Fur  'z  you  can  look  or  listen, 
Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill, 

All  silence  an'  all  glisten. 

Zekle  crep'  up  quite  unbeknown 

An'  peeked  in  thru'  the  winder, 
An'  there  sot  Huldy  all  alone, 

'ith  no  one  nigh  to  hender. 

A  fireplace  filled  the  room's  one  side 

With  half  a  cord  o'  wood  in  — 
There  warn't  no  stoves  (tell  comfort  died) 

To  bake  ye  to  a  puddin'. 

The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 

Towards  the  pootiest,  bless  her, 
An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about 

The  chiny  on  the  dresser. 

Agin  the  chimbley  crook-necks  hung, 

An'  in  amongst  'em  rusted 
The  ole  queen's-arm  thet  gran'ther  Young 

Fetched  back  from  Concord  busted. 

The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in, 

Seemed  warm  from  floor  to  ceilin', 
An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin 

Ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin'. 

'T  was  kin'  o'  kingdom-come  to  look 

On  sech  a  blessed  cretur, 
A  dogrose  blushin'  to  a  brook 

Ain't  modester  nor  sweeter. 


526        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  A  i, 

Clear  grit  an'  human  natur' ; 
None  could  n't  quicker  pitch  a  ton 

Nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 


He  'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals, 
Hed  squired  'em,  danced  'em,  druv  'em, 

Fust  this  one,  an'  then  thet,  by  spells  — 
All  is,  he  could  n't  love  'em. 

But  long  o'  her  his  veins  'ould  run 

All  crinkly  like  curled  maple, 
The  side  she  breshed  felt  full  o'  sun 

Ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 

She  thought  no  v'ice  hed  sech  a  swing 

Ez  hisn  in  the  choir  ; 
My  !  when  he  made  Ole  Hunderd  ring, 

She  knowed  the  Lord  was  nigher. 

An'  she  'd  blush  scarlit,  right  in  prayer, 
When  her  new  meetin'-bunnet 

Felt  somehow  thru'  its  crown  a  pair 
O'  blue  eyes  sot  upon  it. 

Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  some  ! 

She  seemed  to  've  gut  a  new  soul, 
For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he  'd  come, 

Down  to  her  very  shoe-sole. 

She  heered  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it  tu, 

A-raspin'  on  the  scraper,  — 
All  ways  to  once  her  feelins  flew 

Like  sparks  in  burnt-up  paper. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  527 

He  kin'  o'  1'itered  on  the  mat, 

Some  doubtfle  o'  the  sekle. 
His  heart  kep  goin'  pity-pat, 

But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 


An'  yit  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk 
Ez  though  she  wished  him  furder, 

An'  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work, 
Parin'  away  like  murder. 

"  You  want  to  see  my  Pa,  I  s'pose  ?  " 
".Wai  ...  no  ...  I  come  dasignin' ': 

"  To  see  my  Ma  ?  She  's  sprinklin'  clo'es 
Agin  to-morrer's  i'nin'." 

To  say  why  gals  acts  so  or  so, 

Or  don't,  'ould  be  presumin' ; 
Mebby  to  mean  yes  an'  say  no 

Comes  nateral  to  women. 


He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust, 
Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'  other, 

An'  on  which  one  he  felt  the  wust 
He  could  n't  ha'  told  ye  nuther. 

Says  he,  "  I  'd  better  call  agin  "  ; 

Says  she,  "  Think  likely,  Mister  "  ; 
Thet  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin, 

An'   ...  Wai,  he  up  an'  kist  her. 

When  Ma  bimeby  upon  'em  slips, 

Huldy  sot  pale  ez  ashes, 
All  kin'  o'  smily  roun'  the  lips 

An'  teary  roun'  the  lashes. 


528         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

For  she  was  jes'  the  quiet  kind 

Whose  naturs  never  vary, 
Like  streams  that  keep  a  summer  mind 

Snowhid  in  Jenooary. 

The  blood  clost  roun'  her  heart  felt  glued 

Too  tight  for  all  expressing 
Tell  mother  see  how  metters  stood, 

An'  gin  'em  both  her  blessin'. 

Then  her  red  come  back  like  the  tide 

Down  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy, 
An'  all  I  know  is  they  was  cried 

In  meetin'  come  nex'  Sunday. 


THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 
PRELUDE  TO  PART  FIRST 

Over  his  keys  the  musing  organist, 

Beginning  doubtfully  and  far  away, 
First  lets  his  fingers  wander  as  they  list, 

And  builds  a  bridge  from  Dreamland  for  his  lay 
Then,  as  the  touch  of  his  loved  instrument 

Gives  hope  and  fervor,  nearer  draws  his  theme, 
First  guessed  by  faint  auroral  flushes  sent 

Along  the  wavering  vista  of  his  dream. 

Not  only  around  our  infancy 
Doth  heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lie ; 
Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not. 

Over  our  manhood  bend  the  skies ; 

Against  our  fallen  and  traitor  lives 
The  great  winds  utter  prophecies  : 

With  our  faint  hearts  the  mountain  strives ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  529 

Its  arms  outstretched,  the  druid  wood 

Waits  with  its  benedicite  ; 
And  to  our  age's  drowsy  blood 

Still  shouts  the  inspiring  sea. 


Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us ; 

The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives  us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in ; 
At  the  Devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold ; 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking : 

'T  is  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'T  is  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking ; 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer ; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays  : 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten  ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys  ; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there  's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace  ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 


530        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings ; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest,  — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best  ? 

Now  is  the  high-tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer, 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay ; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it ; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'T  is  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  blossoms  swell ; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  knowing 
That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing ; 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 
That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are  flowing, 
That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by ; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack  ; 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing,  — 
And  hark  !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing ! 
Joy  comes,  grief  goes,  we  know  not  how ; 
Everything  is  happy  now, 

Everything  is  upward  striving  ; 
'T  is  as  easy  now  for  the  heart  to  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  to  be  blue,  — 

'T  is  the  natural  way  of  living  : 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  531 

Who  knows  whither  the  clouds  have  fled  ? 

In  the  unscarred  heaven  they  leave  no  wake ; 
And  the  eyes  forget  the  tears  they  have  shed, 

The  heart  forgets  its  sorrow  and  ache ; 
The  soul  partakes  of  the  season's  youth, 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 

Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 
What  wonder  if  Sir  Launfal  now 
Remembered  the  keeping  of  his  vow  ? 

PART  FIRST 


"  My  golden  spurs  now  bring  to  me, 
And  bring  to  me  my  richest  mail, 

For  to-morrow  I  go  over  land  and  sea 
In  search  of  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Shall  never  a  bed  for  me  be  spread, 

Nor  shall  a  pillow  be  under  my  head, 

Till  I  begin  my  vow  to  keep  ; 

Here  on  the  rushes  will  I  sleep, 

And  perchance  there  may  come  a  vision  true 

Ere  day  create  the  world  anew." 

Slowly  Sir  Launfal' s  eyes  grew  dim, 
Slumber  fell  like  a  cloud  on  him, 

And  into  his  soul  the  vision  flew. 


The  crows  flapped  over  by  twos  and  threes, 
In  the  pool  drowsed  the  cattle  up  to  their  knees, 
The  little  birds  sang  as  if  it  were 
The  one  day  of  summer  in  all  the  year, 
And  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  sing  on  the  trees 
The  castle  alone  in  the  landscape  lay 
Like  an  outpost  of  winter,  dull  and  gray : 


532        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

'T  was  the  proudest  hall  in  the  North  Countree, 

And  never  its  gates  might  opened  be, 

Save  to  lord  or  lady  of  high  degree ; 

Summer  besieged  it  on  every  side, 

But  the  churlish  stone  her  assaults  defied ; 

She  could  not  scale  the  chilly  wall, 

Though  around  it  for  leagues  her  pavilions  tall 

Stretched  left  and  right, 

Over  the  hills  and  out  of  sight ; 

Green  and  broad  was  every  tent, 

And  out  of  each  a  murmur  went 
Till  the  breeze  fell  off  at  night. 


in 

The  drawbridge  dropped  with  a  surly  clang, 
And  through  the  dark  arch  a  charger  sprang, 
Bearing  Sir  Launfal,  the  maiden  knight, 
In  his  gilded  mail,  that  flamed  so  bright 
It  seemed  the  dark  castle  had  gathered  all 
Those  shafts  the  fierce  sun  had  shot  over  its  wall 

In  his  siege  of  three  hundred  summers  long, 
And,  binding  them  all  in  one  blazing  sheaf, 

Had  cast  them  forth  :  so,  young  and  strong, 
And  lightsome  as  a  locust-leaf, 
Sir  Launfal  flashed  forth  in  his  unscarred  mail, 
To  seek  in  all  climes  for  the  Holy  Grail. 


IV 

It  was  morning  on  hill  and  stream  and  tree, 
And  morning  in  the  young  knight's  heart ; 

Only  the  castle  moodily 

Rebuffed  the  gifts  of  the  sunshine  free, 
And  gloomed  by  itself  apart ; 

The  season  brimmed  all  other  things  up 

Full  as  the  rain  fills  the  pitcher-plant's  cup. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  533 


As  Sir  Launfal  made  morn  through  the  darksome  gate, 

He  was  'ware  of  a  leper,  crouched  by  the  same, 
Who  begged  with  his  hand  and  moaned  as  he  sate ; 

And  a  loathing  over  Sir  Launfal  came  ; 
The  sunshine  went  out  of  his  soul  with  a  thrill, 

The  flesh  'neath  his  armor  'gan  shrink  and  crawl, 
And  midway  its  leap  his  heart  stood  still 

Like  a  frozen  waterfall ; 
For  this  man,  so  foul  and  bent  of  stature, 
Rasped  harshly  against  his  dainty  nature, 
And  seemed  the  one  blot  on  the  summer  morn,  — 
So  he  tossed  him  a  piece  of  gold  in  scorn. 


VI 


The  leper  raised  not  the  gold  from  the  dust : 
"  Better  to  me  the  poor  man's  crust, 
Better  the  blessing  of  the  poor, 
Though  I  turn  me  empty  from  his  door ; 
That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold ; 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty ; 
But  he  who  gives  but  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight, 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustaining  Beauty 
Which  runs  through  all  and  doth  all  unite,  — 
The  hand  cannot  clasp  the  whole  of  his  alms, 
The  heart  outstretches  its  eager  palms, 
For  a  god  goes  with  it  and  makes  it  store 
To  the  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkness  before." 

PRELUDE  TO  PART  SECOND 

Down  swept  the  chill  wind  from  the  mountain  peak, 
From  the  snow  five  thousand  summers  old ; 

On  open  wold  and  hill-top  bleak 
It  had  gathered  all  the  cold, 


534        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's  cheek  : 

It  carried  a  shiver  everywhere 

From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare ; 

The  little  brook  heard  it  and  built  a  roof 

'Neath  which  he  could  house  him,  winter-proof ; 

All  night  by  the  white  stars'  frosty  gleams 

He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams ; 

Slender  and  clear  were  his  crystal  spars 

As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars ; 

He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 

In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight ; 

Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipt 

Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest-crypt, 

Long,  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 

Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze  ; 

Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretwork  knew 

But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew ; 

Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief 

With  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf ; 

Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 

For  the  gladness  of  heaven  to  shine  through,  and  here 

He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 

And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond-drops, 

That  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun, 

And  made  a  star  of  every  one  : 

No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 

Could  match  this  winter-palace  of  ice ; 

'Twas  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay 

In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 

Each  fleeting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky, 

Lest  the  happy  model  should  be  lost, 
Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 

By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost. 

Within  the  hall  are  song  and  laughter, 

The  cheeks  of  Christmas  grow  red  and  jolly, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  535 

And  sprouting  is  every  corbel  and  rafter 

With  lightsome  green  of  ivy  and  holly ; 
Through  the  deep  gulf  of  the  chimney  wide 
Wallows  the  Yule-log's  roaring  tide  ; 
The  broad  flame-pennons  droop  and  flap 

And  belly  and  tug  as  a  flag  in  the  wind ; 
Like  a  locust  shrills  the  imprisoned  sap, 

Hunted  to  death  in  its  galleries  blind ; 
And  swift  little  troops  of  silent  sparks, 

Now  pausing,  now  scattering  away  as  in  fear, 
Go  threading  the  soot-forest's  tangled  darks 

Like  herds  of  startled  deer. 
But  the  wind  without  was  eager  and  sharp, 
Of  Sir  Launfal's  gray  hair  it  makes  a  harp, 
And  rattles  and  wrings 
The  icy  strings, 

Singing,  in  dreary  monotone, 

A  Christmas  carol  of  its  own, 

Whose  burden  still,  as  he  might  guess, 

Was  —  "  Shelterless,  shelterless,  shelterless  !  " 
The  voice  of  the  seneschal  flared  like  a  torch 
As  he  shouted  the  wanderer  away  from  the  porch, 
And  he  sat  in  the  gateway  and  saw  all  night 

The  great  hall-fire,  so  cheery  and  bold, 

Through  the  window-slits  of  the  castle  old, 
Build  out  its  piers  of  ruddy  light, 

Against  the  drift  of  the  cold. 

PART  SECOND 

I 

There  was  never  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree, 
The  bare  boughs  rattled  shudderingly ; 
The  river  was  dumb  and  could  not  speak, 

For  the  weaver  Winter  its  shroud  had  spun. 
A  single  crow  on  the  tree-top  bleak 

From  his  shining  feathers  shed  off  the  cold  sun ; 


536        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Again  it  was  morning,  but  shrunk  and  cold, 
As  if  her  veins  were  sapless  and  old, 
And  she  rose  up  decrepitly 
For  a  last  dim  look  at  earth  and  sea. 


ii 

Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate, 

For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate  ; 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross, 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore, 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 

in 

Sir  Launfal's  raiment  thin  and  spare 

Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time  ; 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 

In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long-ago ; 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 

O'er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small, 

Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one, 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun, 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 

To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass, 

The  little  spring  laughed  and  leapt  in  the  shade, 

And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 

And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 

IV 

"  For  Christ's  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms  ;  "  — 

The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 

But  Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  537 

The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone, 
That  cowers  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 


And  Sir  Launfal  said,  —  ''I  behold  in  thec 

An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree ; 

Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns,  — 

Thou  also  hast  had  the  world's  buffets  and  scorns,  — 

And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 

The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side : 

Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me ; 

Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  Thee  !  " 

VI 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 

And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 

He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 
When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust ; 
He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 
He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink, 
And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink  : 
'T  was  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

'T  was  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl,  — 
Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 

And  't  was  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty  soul. 

VII 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 
A  light  shone  round  about  the  place ; 
The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 
But  stood  before  him  glorified, 


538        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate,  — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 

Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

VIII 

His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the  pine, 

And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the  brine, 

That  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 

With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon ; 

And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence  said, 

"  Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid ! 

In  many  climes,  without  avail, 

Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail ; 

Behold,  it  is  here,  —  this  cup  which  thou 

Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  Me  but  now ; 

This  crust  is  My  body  broken  for  thee, 

This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree ; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed, 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need  : 

Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share,  — 

For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare  ; 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three,  — 

Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  Me." 

IX 

Sir  Launfal  awoke  as  from  a  swound  :  — 
"  The  Grail  in  my  castle  here  is  found ! 
Hang  my  idle  armor  up  on  the  wall, 
Let  it  be  the  spider's  banquet-hall ; 
He  must  be  fenced  with  stronger  mail 
Who  would  seek  and  find  the  Holy  Grail." 


The  castle  gate  stands  open  now, 

And  the  wanderer  is  welcome  to  the  hall 

As  the  hangbird  is  to  the  elm-tree  bough : 
No  longer  scowl  the  turrets  tall, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  539 

The  Summer's  long  siege  at  last  is  o'er ; 

When  the  first  poor  outcast  went  in  at  the  door, 

She  entered  with  him  in  disguise, 

And  mastered  the  fortress  by  surprise  ; 

There  is  no  spot  she  loves  so  well  on  ground, 

She  lingers  and  smiles  there  the  whole  year  round ; 

The  meanest  serf  on  Sir  Launfal's  land 

Has  hall  and  bower  at  his  command ; 

And  there  's  no  poor  man  in  the  North  Countree 

But  is  lord  of  the  earldom  as  much  as  he. 


ODE  RECITED  AT  THE  HARVARD  COMMEMORATION 
JULY  21,  1865 

I 

Weak-winged  is  song, 
Nor  aims  at  that  clear-ethered  height 
Whither  the  brave  deed  climbs  for  light  ; 

We  seem  to  do  them  wrong, 
Bringing  our  robin's-leaf  to  deck  their  hearse 
Who  in  warm  life-blood  wrote  their  nobler  verse, 
Our  trivial  song  to  honor  those  who  come 
With  ears  attuned  to  strenuous  trump  and  drum, 
And  shaped  in  squadron-strophes  their  desire, 
Live  battle-odes  whose  lines  were  steel  and  fire  : 

Yet  sometimes  feathered  words  are  strong, 
A  gracious  memory  to  buoy  up  and  save 
From  Lethe's  dreamless  ooze,  the  common  grave 

Of  the  unventurous  throng. 


To-day  our  Reverend  Mother  welcomes  back 
Her  wisest  Scholars,  those  who  understood 

The  deeper  teaching  of  her  mystic  tome, 

And  offered  their  fresh  lives  to  make  it  good : 
No  lore  of  Greece  or  Rome, 

No  science  peddling  with  the  names  of  things, 


540        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Or  reading  stars  to  find  inglorious  fates, 

Can  lift  our  life  with  wings 
Far  from  Death's  idle  gulf  that  for  the  many  waits, 

And  lengthen  out  our  dates 
With  that  clear  fame  whose  memory  sings 
In  manly  hearts  to  come,  and  nerves  them  and  dilates 
Nor  such  thy  teaching,  Mother  of  us  all ! 
Not  such  the  trumpet-call 
Of  thy  diviner  mood, 
That  could  thy  sons  entice 
From  happy  homes  and  toils,  the  fruitful  nest 
Of  those  half-virtues  which  the  world  calls  best, 
Into  War's  tumult  rude  ; 
But  rather  far  that  stern  device 
The  sponsors  chose  that  round  thy  cradle  stood 
In  the  dim,  unventured  wood, 
The  VERITAS  that  lurks  beneath 
The  letter's  unprolific  sheath, 
Life  of  whate'er  makes  life  worth  living, 
Seed-grain  of  high  emprise,  immortal  food, 

One  heavenly  thing  whereof  earth  hath  the  giving. 

m 

Many  loved  Truth,  and  lavished  life's  best  oil 

Amid  the  dust  of  books  to  find  her, 
Content  at  last,  for  guerdon  of  their  toil, 

With  the  cast  mantle  she  hath  left  behind  her. 
Many  in  sad  faith  sought  for  her, 
Many  with  crossed  hands  sighed  for  her ; 
But  these,  our  brothers,  fought  for  her 
At  life's  dear  peril  wrought  for  her, 
So  loved  her  that  they  died  for  her, 
Tasting  the  raptured  fleetness 
Of  her  divine  completeness  : 
Their  higher  instinct  knew 
Those  love  her  best  who  to  themselves  are  true, 
And  what  they  dare  to  dream  of,  dare  to  do ; 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  541 

They  followed  her  and  found  her 

Where  all  may  hope  to  find, 
Not  in  the  ashes  of  the  burnt-out  mind, 
But  beautiful,  with  danger's  sweetness  round  her. 

Where  faith  made  whole  with  deed 

Breathes  its  awakening  breath 

Into  the  lifeless  creed, 

They  saw  her  plumed  and  mailed, 

With  sweet,  stern  face  unveiled, 
And  all-repaying  eyes,  look  proud  on  them  in  death. 

IV 

Our  slender  life  runs  rippling  by,  and  glides 
Into  the  silent  hollow  of  the  past ; 

What  is  there  that  abides 
To  make  the  next  age  better  for  the  last  ? 

Is  earth  too  poor  to  give  us 
Something  to  live  for  here  that  shall  outlive  us  ? 

Some  more  substantial  boon 

Than  such  as  flows  and  ebbs  with  Fortune's  fickle  moon  ? 
The  little  that  we  see 
From  doubt  is  never  free  ; 
The  little  that  we  do 
Is  but  half -nobly  true  ; 
With  our  laborious  hiving 
What  men  call  treasure,  and  the  gods  call  dross, 
Life  seems  a  jest  of  Fate's  contriving, 
Only  secure  in  every  one's  conniving, 
A  long  account  of  nothings  paid  with  loss, 
Where  we  poor  puppets,  jerked  by  unseen  wires, 

After  our  little  hour  of  strut  and  rave, 
With  all  our  pasteboard  passions  and  desires, 
Loves,  hates,  ambitions,  and  immortal  fires, 
Are  tossed  pell-mell  together  in  the  grave. 
But  stay !  no  age  was  e'er  degenerate, 
Unless  men  held  it  at  too  cheap  a  rate, 
For  in  our  likeness  still  we  shape  our  fate. 


542         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Ah,  there  is  something  here 

Unfathomed  by  the  cynic's  sneer 

Something  that  gives  our  feeble  light 

A  high  immunity  from  Night, 

Something  that  leaps  life's  narrow  bars 
To  claim  its  birthright  with  the  hosts  of  heaven ; 

A  seed  of  sunshine  that  can  leaven 
Our  earthly  dulness  with  the  beams  of  stars, 

And  glorify  our  clay 
With  light  from  fountains  elder  than  the  Day ;  . 

A  conscience  more  divine  than  we, 

A  gladness  fed  with  secret  tears, 

A  vexing,  forward-reaching  sense 

Of  some  more  noble  permanence ; 

A  light  across  the  sea, 

Which  haunts  the  soul  and  will  not  let  it  be, 
Still  glimmering  from  the  heights  of  undegenerate  years. 


Whither  leads  the  path 
To  ampler  fates  that  leads  ? 
Not  down  through  flowery  meads, 
To  reap  an  aftermath 
Of  youth's  vainglorious  weeds, 
But  up  the  steep,  amid  the  wrath 
And  shock  of  deadly-hostile  creeds, 
Where  the  world's  best  hope  and  stay 
By  battle's  flashes  gropes  a  desperate  way, 
And  every  turf  the  fierce  foot  clings  to  bleeds. 
Peace  hath  her  not  ignoble  wreath, 
Ere  yet  the  sharp,  decisive  word 
Light  the  black  lips  of  cannon,  and  the  sword 

Dreams  in  its  easeful  sheath  ; 
But  some  day  the  live  coal  behind  the  thought, 
Whether  from  Baal's  stone  obscene, 
Or  from  the  shrine  serene 
Of  God's  pure  altar  brought, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  543 

Bursts  up  in  flame ;  the  war  of  tongue  and  pen 
Learns  with  what  deadly  purpose  it  was  fraught, 
And,  helpless  in  the  fiery  passion  caught, 
Shakes  all  the  pillared  state  with  shock  of  men : 
Some  day  the  soft  Ideal  that  we  wooed 
Confronts  us  fiercely,  foe-beset,  pursued, 
And  cries  reproachful :  "  Was  it,  then,  my  praise, 
And  not  myself  was  loved  ?    Prove  now  thy  truth ; 
I  claim  of  thee  the  promise  of  thy  youth  ; 
Give  me  thy  life,  or  cower  in  empty  phrase, 
The  victim  of  thy  genius,  not  its  mate !  " 
Life  may  be  given  in  many  ways, 
And  loyalty  to  Truth  be  sealed 
As  bravely  in  the  closet  as  the  field, 

So  bountiful  is  Fate  ; 

But  then  to  stand  beside  her, 

When  craven  churls  deride  her, 
To  front  a  lie  in  arms  and  not  to  yield, 

This  shows,  methinks,  God's  plan 

And  measure  of  a  stalwart  man, 

Limbed  like  the  old  heroic  breeds, 

Who  stands  self-poised  on  manhood's  solid  earth, 
Not  forced  to  frame  excuses  for  his  birth, 
Fed  from  within  with  all  the  strength  he  needs. 

VI 

Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

Whom  late  the  Nation  he  had  led, 
With  ashes  on  her  head, 
Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief : 
Forgive  me,  if  from  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn, 
And  hang  my  wreath  on  his  world-honored  urn. 

Nature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 

And  cannot  make  a  man 

Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 

Repeating  us  by  rote  : 


544        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

For  him  her  Old- World  moulds  aside  she  threw, 
And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 
Of  the  unexhausted  West, 

With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 

Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  true. 
How  beautiful  to  see 

Once  more  a  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed, 

Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead  ; 

One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be, 
Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth, 
But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth, 

And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity ! 

They  knew  that  outward  grace  is  dust ; 
They  could  not  choose  but  trust 

In  that  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 
And  supple-tempered  will 

That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again  and  thrust. 
His  was  no  lonely  mountain-peak  of  mind, 
Thrusting  to  thin  air  o'er  our  cloudy  bars, 
A  sea-mark  now,  now  lost  in  vapors  blind ; 
Broad  prairie  rather,  genial,  level-lined, 
Fruitful  and  friendly  for  all  human-kind, 

Yet  also  nigh  to  heaven  and  loved  of  loftiest  stars. 
Nothing  of  Europe  here, 

Or,  then,  of  Europe  fronting  morn-ward  still, 

Ere  any  names  of  Serf  and  Peer 
Could  Nature's  equal  scheme  deface 
And  thwart  her  genial  will ; 
Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 

And  one  of  Plutarch's  men  talked  with  us  face  to  face. 
I  praise  him  not ;  it  were  too  late  ; 

And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 

In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 

Such  as  the  Present  gives,  and  cannot  wait, 
Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 
So  always  firmly  he  : 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  545 

He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide, 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 

Till  the  wise  years  decide. 
Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 
Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 

But  at  last  silence  comes  ; 
These  all  are  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower, 
Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame, 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 
Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise,  not  blame, 
New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 

VII 

Long  as  man's  hope  insatiate  can  discern 
Or  only  guess  some  more  inspiring  goal 
Outside  of  Self,  enduring  as  the  pole, 

Along  whose  course  the  flying  axles  burn 

Of  spirits  bravely-pitched,  earth's  manlier  brood ; 
Long  as  below  we  cannot  find 

The  meed  that  stills  the  inexorable  mind ; 

So  long  this  faith  to  some  ideal  Good, 

Under  whatever  mortal  names  it  masks, 

Freedom,  Law,  Country,  this  ethereal  mood 
That  thanks  the  Fates  for  their  severer  tasks, 

Feeling  its  challenged  pulses  leap, 

While  others  skulk  in  subterfuges  cheap, 
And,  set  in  Danger's  van,  has  all  the  boon  it  asks, 

Shall  win  man's  praise  and  woman's  love, 

Shall  be  a  wisdom  that  we  set  above 
All  other  skills  and  gifts  to  culture  dear, 

A  virtue  round  whose  forehead  we  inwreathe 

Laurels  that  with  a  living  passion  breathe 
When  other  crowns  grow,  while  we  twine  them,  sear. 

What  brings  us  thronging  these  high  rites  to  pay, 
And  seal  these  hours  the  noblest  of  our  year, 

Save  that  our  brothers  found  this  better  way  ? 


546        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

VIII 

We  sit  here  in  the  Promised  Land 
That  flows  with  Freedom's  honey  and  milk ; 
But  't  was  they  won  it,  sword  in  hand, 
Making  the  nettle  danger  soft  for  us  as  silk. 
We  welcome  back  our  bravest  and  our  best ;  — 
Ah  me  !  not  all !  some  come  not  with  the  rest, 
Who  went  forth  brave  and  bright  as  any  here ! 
I  strive  to  mix  some  gladness  with  my  strain, 
But  the  sad  strings  complain, 
And  will  not  please  the  ear : 
I  sweep  them  for  a  paean,  but  they  wane 

Again  and  yet  again 
Into  a  dirge,  and  die  away,  in  pain. 
In  these  brave  ranks  I  only  see  the  gaps, 
Thinking  of  dear  ones  whom  the  dumb  turf  wraps, 
Dark  to  the  triumph  which  they  died  to  gain : 
Fitlier  may  others  greet  the  living, 
For  me  the  past  is  unforgiving ; 
I  with  uncovered  head 
Salute  the  sacred  dead, 

Who  went,  and  who  return  not.  —  Say  not  so  ! 
'T  is  not  the  grapes  of  Canaan  that  repay, 
But  the  high  faith  that  failed  not  by  the  way ; 
Virtue  treads  paths  that  end  not  in  the  grave ; 
No  bar  of  endless  night  exiles  the  brave ; 

And  to  the  saner  mind 
We  rather  seem  the  dead  that  stayed  behind. 
Blow,  trumpets,  all  your  exultations  blow ! 
For  never  shall  their  aureoled  presence  lack : 
I  see  them  muster  in  a  gleaming  row, 
With  ever-youthful  brows  that  nobler  show ; 
We  find  in  our  dull  road  their  shining  track ; 

In  every  nobler  mood 
We  feel  the  orient  of  their  spirit  glow, 
Part  of  our  life's  unalterable  good, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  547 

Of  all  our  saintlier  aspiration  ; 

They  come  transfigured  back, 
Secure  from  change  in  their  high-hearted  ways, 
Beautiful  evermore,  and  with  the  rays 
Of  morn  on  their  white  Shields  of  Expectation ! 

IX 

But  is  there  hope  to  save 
Even  this  ethereal  essence  from  the  grave  ? 
What  ever  'scaped  Oblivion's  subtle  wrong 

Save  a  few  clarion  names,  or  golden  threads  of  song  ? 

Before  my  musing  eye 
The  mighty  ones  of  old  sweep  by, 
Disvoiced  now  and  insubstantial  things, 
As  noisy  once  as  we  ;  poor  ghosts  of  kings, 
Shadows  of  empire  wholly  gone  to  dust, 
And  many  races,  nameless  long  ago, 
To  darkness  driven  by  that  imperious  gust 
Of  ever-rushing  Time  that  here  doth  blow : 
O  visionary  world,  condition  strange, 
Where  naught  abiding  is  but  only  Change, 

Where  the  deep-bolted  stars  themselves  still  shift  and  range  ! 
Shall  we  to  more  continuance  make  pretence  ? 

Renown  builds  tombs  ;  a  life-estate  is  Wit ; 
And,  bit  by  bit, 

The  cunning  years  steal  all  from  us  but  woe  : 
Leaves  are  we,  whose  decays  no  harvest  sow. 

But,  when  we  vanish  hence, 
Shall  they  lie  forceless  in  the  dark  below, 
Save  to  make  green  their  little  length  of  sod?:, 
Or  deepen  pansies  for  a  year  or  two, 
Who  now  to  us  are  shining-sweet  as  gods  ? 
Was  dying  all  they  had  the  skill  to  do  ? 
That  were  not  fruitless  :  but  the  Soul  resents 
Such  short-lived  service,  as  if  blind  events 
Ruled  without  her,  or  earth  could  so  endure ; 
She  claims  a  more  divine  investiture 


548         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Of  longer  tenure  than  Fame's  airy  rents ; 
Whate'er  she  touches  doth  her  nature  share ; 
Her  inspiration  haunts  the  ennobled  air, 

Gives  eyes  to  mountains  blind, 
Ears  to  the  deaf  earth,  voices  to  the  wind, 
And  her  clear  trump  sings  succor  everywhere 
By  lonely  bivouacs  to  the  wakeful  mind ; 
For  soul  inherits  all  that  soul  could  dare : 

Yea,  Manhood  hath  a  wider  span 
And  larger  privilege  of  life  than  man. 
The  single  deed,  the  private  sacrifice, 
So  radiant  now  through  proudly-hidden  tears, 
Is  covered  up  ere  long  from  mortal  eyes 
With  thoughtless  drift  of  the  deciduous  years  ; 
But  that  high  privilege  that  makes  all  men  peers, 
That  leap  of  heart  whereby  a  people  rise 

Up  to  a  noble  anger's  height, 

And,  flamed  on  by  the  Fates,  not  shrink,  but  grow  more  bright, 
That  swift  validity  in  noble  veins, 
Of  choosing  danger  and  disdaining  shame, 

Of  being  set  on  flame 
By  the  pure  fire  that  flies  all  contact  base, 
But  wraps  its  chosen  with  angelic  might, 
These  are  imperishable  gains, 
Sure  as  the  sun,  medicinal  as  light, 
These  hold  great  futures  in  their  lusty  reins 
And  certify  to  earth  a  new  imperial  race. 


Who  now  shall  sneer  ? 
Who  dare  again  to  say  we  trace 
Our  lines  to  a  plebeian  race  ? 

Roundhead  and  Cavalier ! 
Dumb  are  those  names  erewhile  in  battle  loud ; 
Dream-footed  as  the  shadow  of  a  cloud, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  549 

They  flit  across  the  ear  : 
That  is  best  blood  that  hath  most  iron  in  't, 
To  edge  resolve  with,  pouring  without  stint 

For  what  makes  manhood  dear. 
Tell  us  not  of  Plantagenets, 
Hapsburgs,  and  Guelfs,  whose  thin  bloods  crawl 
Down  from  some  victor  in  a  border-brawl ! 

How  poor  their  outworn  coronets, 
Matched  with  one  leaf  of  that  plain  civic  wreath 
Our  brave  for  honor's  blazon  shall  bequeath, 

Through  whose  desert  a  rescued  Nation  sets 
Her  heel  on  treason,  and  the  trumpet  hears 
Shout  victory,  tingling  Europe's  sullen  ears 
With  vain  resentments  and  more  vain  regrets ! 

XI 

Not  in  anger,  not  in  pride, 
Pure  from  passion's  mixture  rude 
Ever  to  base  earth  allied, 
But  with  far-heard  gratitude, 
Still  with  heart  and  voice  renewed, 
To  heroes  living  and  dear  martyrs  dead, 
The  strain  should  close  that  consecrates  our  brave. 
Lift  the  heart  and  lift  the  head  ! 
Lofty  be  its  mood  and  grave, 
Not  without  a  martial  ring, 
Not  without  a  prouder  tread 
And  a  peal  of  exultation  : 
Little  right  has  he  to  sing 
Through  whose  heart  in  such  an  hour 
Beats  no  march  of  conscious  power, 
Sweeps  no  tumult  of  elation  ! 
'T  is  no  Man  we  celebrate, 
By  his  country's  victories  great, 
A  hero  half,  and  half  the  whim  of  Fate, 
But  the  pith  and  marrow  of  a  Nation 


550        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Drawing  force  from  all  her  men, 
Highest,  humblest,  weakest,  all, 
For  her  time  of  need,  and  then 
Pulsing  it  again  through  them, 
Till  the  basest  can  no  longer  cower, 
Feeling  his  soul  spring  up  divinely  tall, 
Touched  but  in  passing  by  her  mantle-hem. 
Come  back,  then,  noble  pride,  for  't  is  her  dower ! 
How  could  poet  ever  tower, 
If  his  passions,  hopes,  and  fears, 
If  his  triumphs  and  his  tears, 
Kept  not  measure  with  his  people  ? 
Boom,  cannon,  boom  to  all  the  winds  and  waves ! 
Clash  out,  glad  bells,  from  every  rocking  steeple ! 
Banners,  adance  with  triumph,  bend  your  staves ! 
And  from  every  mountain-peak 
Let  beacon-fire  to  answering  beacon  speak, 
Katahdin  tell  Monadnock,  Whiteface  he, 
And  so  leap  on  in  light  from  sea  to  sea, 
Till  the  glad  news  be  sent 
Across  a  kindling  continent, 

Making  earth  feel  more  firm  and  air  breathe  braver : 
"  Be  proud !  for  she  is  saved,  and  all  have  helped  to  save  her ! 
She  that  lifts  up  the  manhood  of  the  poor, 
She  of  the  open  soul  and  open  door, 
With  room  about  her  hearth  for  all  mankind  ! 
The  fire  is  dreadful  in  her  eyes  no  more ; 
From  her  bold  front  the  helm  she  doth  unbind, 
Sends  all  her  handmaid  armies  back  to  spin, 
And  bids  her  navies,  that  so  lately  hurled 
Their  crashing  battle,  hold  their  thunders  in, 
Swimming  like  birds  of  calm  along  the  unharmful  shore. 
No  challenge  sends  she  to  the  elder  world, 
That  looked  askance  and  hated  ;  a  light  scorn 
Plays  o'er  her  mouth,  as  round  her  mighty  knees 
She  calls  her  children  back,  and  waits  the  morn 
Of  nobler  day,  enthroned  between  her  subject  seas." 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  551 

XII 

Bow  down,  dear  Land,  for  thou  hast  found  release ! 
Thy  God,  in  these  distempered  days, 
Hath  taught  thee  the  sure  wisdom  of  His  ways, 
And  through  thine  enemies  hath  wrought  thy  peace ! 

Bow  down  in  prayer  and  praise ! 
No  poorest  in  thy  borders  but  may  now 
Lift  to  the  juster  skies  a  man's  enfranchised  brow, 
O  Beautiful !  my  Country  !  ours  once  more  ! 
Smoothing  thy  gold  of  war-dishevelled  hair 
O'er  such  sweet  brows  as  never  other  wore, 

And  letting  thy  set  lips, 

Freed  from  wrath's  pale  eclipse, 
The  rosy  edges  of  their  smile  lay  bare, 
What  words  divine  of  lover  or  of  poet 
Could  tell  our  love  and  make  thee  know  it, 
Among  the  Nations  bright  beyond  compare  ? 

What  were  our  lives  without  thee  ? 

What  all  our  lives  to  save  thee  ? 

We  reck  not  what  we  gave  thee  ; 

We  will  not  dare  to  doubt  thee, 
But  ask  whatever  else,  and  we  will  dare ! 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

AN  ESSAY  FIRST  PUBLISHED  IN  THE  NORTH  AMERICAN  REVIEW  FOR 
JANUARY,  1864.   THE  FINAL  PARAGRAPH  WAS  ADDED  LATER 

There  have  been  many  painful  crises  since  the  impatient  vanity 
of  South  Carolina  hurried  ten  prosperous  Commonwealths  into  a 
crime  whose  assured  retribution  was  to  leave  them  either  at  the 
mercy  of  the  nation  they  had  wronged,  or  of  the  anarchy  they  had 
summoned  but  could  not  control,  when  no  thoughtful  American 
opened  his  morning  paper  without  dreading  to  find  that  he  had  no 
longer  a  country  to  love  and  honor.  Whatever  the  result  of  the 
convulsion  whose  first  shocks  were  beginning  to  be  felt,  there 


552        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

would  still  be  enough  square  miles  of  earth  for  elbow-room ;  but 
that  ineffable  sentiment  made  up  of  memory  and  hope,  of  instinct 
and  tradition,  which  swells  every  man's  heart  and  shapes  his  thought, 
though  perhaps  never  present  to  his  consciousness,  would  be  gone 
from  it,  leaving  it  common  earth  and  nothing  more.  Men  might 
gather  rich  crops  from  it,  but  that  ideal  harvest  of  priceless  associ 
ations  would  be  reaped  no  longer ;  that  fine  virtue  which  sent  up 
messages  of  courage  and  security  from  every  sod  of  it  would  have 
evaporated  beyond  recall.  We  should  be  irrevocably  cut  off  from 
our  past,  and  be  forced  to  splice  the  ragged  ends  of  our  lives  upon 
whatever  new  conditions  chance  might  leave  dangling  for  us. 

We  confess  that  we  had  our  doubts  at  first  whether  the  patriotism 
of  our  people  were  not  too  narrowly  provincial  to  embrace  the 
proportions  of  national  peril.  We  felt  an  only  too  natural  distrust 
of  immense  public  meetings  and  enthusiastic  cheers. 

That  a  reaction  should  follow  the  holiday  enthusiasm  with  which 
the  war  was  entered-on,  that  it  should  follow  soon,  and  that  the 
slackening  of  public  spirit  should  be  proportionate  to  the  previous 
over-tension,  might  well  be  foreseen  by  all  who  had  studied  human 
nature  or  history.  Men  acting  gregariously  are  always  in  extremes  ; 
as  they  are  one  moment  capable  of  higher  courage,  so  they  are 
liable,  the  next,  to  baser  depression,  and  it  is  often  a  matter  of 
chance  whether  numbers  shall  multiply  confidence  or  discourage 
ment.  Nor  does  deception  lead  more  surely  to  distrust  of  men, 
than  self-deception  to  suspicion  of  principles.  The  only  faith  that 
wears  well  and  holds  its  color  in  all  weathers  is  that  which  is  woven 
of  conviction  and  set  with  the  sharp  mordant  of  experience.  Enthu 
siasm  is  good  material  for  the  orator,  but  the  statesman  needs 
something  more  durable  to  work  in,  —  must  be  able  to  rely  on  the 
deliberate  reason  and  consequent  firmness  of  the  people,  without 
which  that  presence  of  mind,  no  less  essential  in  times  of  moral 
than  of  material  peril,  will  be  wanting  at  the  critical  moment. 
Would  this  fervor  of  the  Free  States  hold  out  ?  Was  it  kindled  by 
a  just  feeling  of  the  value  of  constitutional  liberty  ?  Had  it  body 
enough  to  withstand  the  inevitable  dampening  of  checks,  reverses, 
delays  ?  Had  our  population  intelligence  enough  to  comprehend 
that  the  choice  was  between  order  and  anarchy,  between  the 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  553 

equilibrium  of  a  government  by  law  and  the  tussle  of  misrule  by 
pronunciamiento  ?  Could  a  war  be  maintained  without  the  ordinary 
stimulus  of  hatred  and  plunder,  and  with  the  impersonal  loyalty  of 
principle  ?  These  were  serious  questions,  and  with  no  precedent 
to  aid  in  answering  them. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  war  there  was,  indeed,  occasion  for  the 
most  anxious  apprehension.  A  President  known  to  be  infected 
with  the  political  heresies,  and  suspected  of  sympathy  with  the 
treason,  of  the  Southern  conspirators,  had  just  surrendered  the  reins, 
we  will  not  say  of  power,  but  of  chaos,  to  a  successor  known  only 
as  the  representative  of  a  party  whose  leaders,  with  long  training 
in  opposition,  had  none  in  the  conduct  of  affairs  ;  an  empty  treasury 
was  called  on  to  supply  resources  beyond  precedent  in  the  history 
of  finance  ;  the  trees  were  yet  growing  and  the  iron  unmined  with 
which  a  navy  was  to  be  built  and  armored  ;  officers  without  discipline 
were  to  make  a  mob  into  an  army ;  and,  above  all,  the  public 
opinion  of  Europe,  echoed  and  reinforced  with  every  vague  hint 
and  every  specious  argument  of  despondency  by  a  powerful  faction 
at  home,  was  either  contemptuously  sceptical  or  actively  hostile. 
It  would  be  hard  to  over-estimate  the  force  of  this  latter  element 
of  disintegration  and  discouragement  among  a  people  where  every 
citizen  at  home,  and  every  soldier  in  the  field,  is  a  reader  of  news 
papers.  The  pedlers  of  rumor  in  the  North  were  the  most  effective 
allies  of  the  rebellion.  A  nation  can  be  liable  to  no  more  insidious 
treachery  than  that  of  the  telegraph,  sending  hourly  its  electric 
thrill  of  panic  along  the  remotest  nerves  of  the  community,  till 
the  excited  imagination  makes  every  real  danger  loom  heightened 
with  its  unreal  double. 

And  even  if  we  look  only  at  more  palpable  difficulties,  the 
problem  to  be  solved  by  our  civil  war  was  so  vast,  both  in  its 
immediate  relations  and  its  future  consequences  ;  the  conditions 
of  its  solution  were  so  intricate  and  so  greatly  dependent  on  incal 
culable  and  uncontrollable  contingencies;  so  many  of  the  data, 
whether  for  hope  or  fear,  were,  from  their  novelty,  incapable  of 
arrangement  under  any  of  the  categories  of  historical  precedent, 
that  there  were  moments  of  crisis  when  the  firmest  believer  in  the 
strength  and  sufficiency  of  the  democratic  theory  of  government 


554        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

might  well  hold  his  breath  in  vague  apprehension  of  disaster.  Our 
teachers  of  political  philosophy,  solemnly  arguing  from  the  precedent 
of  some  petty  Grecian,  Italian,  or  Flemish  city,  whose  long  periods 
of  aristocracy  were  broken  now  and  then  by  awkward  parentheses  of 
mob,  had  always  taught  us  that  democracies  were  incapable  of  the 
sentiment  of  loyalty,  of  concentrated  and  prolonged  effort,  of  far- 
reaching  conceptions  ;  were  absorbed  in  material  interests  ;  impa 
tient  of  regular,  and  much  more  of  exceptional  restraint ;  had  no 
natural  nucleus  of  gravitation,  nor  any  forces  but  centrifugal ;  were 
always  on  the  verge  of  civil  war,  and  slunk  at  last  into  the  natural 
almshouse  of  bankrupt  popular  government,  a  military  despotism. 
Here  was  indeed  a  dreary  outlook  for  persons  who  knew  democracy, 
not  by  rubbing  shoulders  with  it  lifelong,  but  merely  from  books, 
and  America  only  by  the  report  of  some  fellow-Briton,  who,  having 
eaten  a  bad  dinner  or  lost  a  carpet-bag  here,  had  written  to  The 
Times  demanding  redress,  and  drawing  a  mournful  inference  of 
democratic  instability.  Nor  were  men  wanting  among  ourselves 
who  had  so  steeped  their  brains  in  London  literature  as  to  mistake 
Cockneyism  for  European  culture,  and  contempt  of  their  country 
for  cosmopolitan  breadth  of  view,  and  who,  owing  all  they  had  and 
all  they  were  to  democracy,  thought  it  had  an  air  of  high-breeding 
to  join  in  the  shallow  epicedium  that  our  bubble  had  burst. 

But  beside  any  disheartening  influences  which  might  affect  the 
timid  or  the  despondent,  there  were  reasons  enough  of  settled 
gravity  against  any  over-confidence  of  hope.  A  war  —  which, 
whether  we  consider  the  expanse  of  the  territory  at  stake,  the  hosts 
brought  into  the  field,  or  the  reach  of  the  principles  involved,  may 
fairly  be  reckoned  the  most  momentous  of  modern  times  —  was  to 
be  waged  by  a  people  divided  at  home,  unnerved  by  fifty  years  of 
peace,  under  a  chief  magistrate  without  experience  and  without 
reputation,  whose  every  measure  was  sure  to  be  cunningly  hampered 
by  a  jealous  and  unscrupulous  minority,  and  who,  while  dealing 
with  unheard-of  complications  at  home,  must  soothe  a  hostile 
neutrality  abroad,  waiting  only  a  pretext  to  become  war.  All  this 
was  to  be  done  without  warning  and  without  preparation,  while  at 
the  same  time  a  social  revolution  was  to  be  accomplished  in  the 
political  condition  of  four  millions  of  people,  by  softening  the 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  555 

prejudices,  allaying  the  fears,  and  gradually  obtaining  the  coopera 
tion,  of  their  unwilling  liberators.  Surely,  if  ever  there  were  an 
occasion  when  the  heightened  imagination  of  the  historian  might 
see  Destiny  visible  intervening  in  human  affairs,  here  was  a  knot 
worthy  of  her  shears.  Never,  perhaps,  was  any  system  of  govern 
ment  tried  by  so  continuous  and  searching  a  strain  as  ours  during 
the  last  three  years ;  never  has  any  shown  itself  stronger ;  and 
never  could  that  strength  be  so  directly  traced  to  the  virtue  and  in 
telligence  of  the  people, — to  that  general  enlightenment  and  prompt 
efficiency  of  public  opinion  possible  only  under  the  influence  of  a 
political  framework  like  our  own.  We  find  it  hard  to  understand 
how  even  a  foreigner  should  be  blind  to  the  grandeur  of  the  combat 
of  ideas  that  has  been  going  on  here,  • —  to  the  heroic  energy,  per 
sistency,  and  self-reliance  of  a  nation  proving  that  it  knows  how 
much  dearer  greatness  is  than  mere  power ;  and  we  own  that  it  is 
impossible  for  us  to  conceive  the  mental  and  moral  condition  of 
the  American  who  does  not  feel  his  spirit  braced  and  heightened 
by  being  even  a  spectator  of  such  qualities  and  achievements.  That 
a  steady  purpose  and  a  definite  aim  have  been  given  to  the  jarring 
forces  which,  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  spent  themselves  in  the 
discussion  of  schemes  which  could  only  become  operative,  if  at  all, 
after  the  war  was  over ;  that  a  popular  excitement  has  been  slowly 
intensified  into  an  earnest  national  will ;  that  a  somewhat  impracti 
cable  moral  sentiment  has  been  made  the  unconscious  instrument 
of  a  practical  moral  end ;  that  the  treason  of  covert  enemies,  the 
jealousy  of  rivals,  the  unwise  zeal  of  friends,  have  been  made  not 
only  useless  for  mischief,  but  even  useful  for  good ;  that  the  con 
scientious  sensitiveness  of  England  to  the  horrors  of  civil  conflict 
has  been  prevented  from  complicating  a  domestic  with  a  foreign 
war ;  —  all  these  results,  any  one  of  which  might  suffice  to  prove 
greatness  in  a  ruler,  have  been  mainly  due  to  the  good  sense,  the 
good-humor,  the  sagacity,  the  large-mindedness,  and  the  unselfish 
honesty  of  the  unknown  man  whom  a  blind  fortune,  as  it  seemed, 
had  lifted  from  the  crowd  to  the  most  dangerous  and  difficult 
eminence  of  modern  times.  It  is  by  presence  of  mind  in  untried 
emergencies  that  the  native  metal  of  a  man  is  tested ;  it  is  by  the 
sagacity  to  see,  and  the  fearless  honesty  to  admit,  whatever  of  truth 


556        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

there  may  be  in  an  adverse  opinion,  in  order  more  convincingly 
to  expose  the  fallacy  that  lurks  behind  it,  that  a  reasoner  at  length 
gains  for  his  mere  statement  of  a  fact  the  force  of  argument ;  it 
is  by  a  wise  forecast  which  allows  hostile  combinations  to  go  so  far 
as  by  the  inevitable  reaction  to  become  elements  of  his  own  power, 
that  a  politician  proves  his  genius  for  state-craft ;  and  especially 
it  is  by  so  gently  guiding  public  sentiment  that  he  seems  to  follow 
it,  by  so  yielding  doubtful  points  that  he  can  be  firm  without  seem 
ing  obstinate  in  essential  ones,  and  thus  gain  the  advantages  of 
compromise  without  the  weakness  of  concession  ;  by  so  instinctively 
comprehending  the  temper  and  prejudices  of  a  people  as  to  make 
them  gradually  conscious  of  the  superior  wisdom  of  his  freedom 
from  temper  and  prejudice,  —  it  is  by  qualities  such  as  these  that 
a  magistrate  shows  himself  worthy  to  be  chief  in  a  commonwealth 
of  freemen.  And  it  is  for  qualities  such  as  these  that  we  firmly 
believe  History  will  rank  Mr.  Lincoln  among  the  most  prudent 
of  statesmen  and  the  most  successful  of  rulers.  If  we  wish  to 
appreciate  him,  we  have  only  to  conceive  the  inevitable  chaos  in 
which  we  should  now  be  weltering,  had  a  weak  man  or  an  unwise 
one  been  chosen  in  his  stead. 

"  Bare  is  back,"  says  the  Norse  proverb,  "without  brother  behind 
it "  ;  and  this  is,  by  analogy,  true  of  an  elective  magistracy.  The 
hereditary  ruler  in  any  critical  emergency  may  reckon  on  the  in 
exhaustible  resources  of  prestige,  of  sentiment,  of  superstition,  of 
dependent  interest,  while  the  new  man  must  slowly  and  painfully 
create  all  these  out  of  the  unwilling  material  around  him,  by  superi 
ority  of  character,  by  patient  singleness  of  purpose,  by  sagacious 
presentiment  of  popular  tendencies  and  instinctive  sympathy  with 
the  national  character.  Mr.  Lincoln's  task  was  one  of  peculiar  and 
exceptional  difficulty.  Long  habit  had  accustomed  the  American 
people  to  the  notion  of  a  party  in  power,  and  of  a  President  as  its 
creature  and  organ,  while  the  more  vital  fact,  that  the  executive 
for  the  time  being  represents  the  abstract  idea  of  government  as  a 
permanent  principle  superior  to  all  party  and  all  private  interest, 
had  gradually  become  unfamiliar.  They  had  so  long  seen  the 
public  policy  more  or  less  directed  by  views  of  party,  and  often 
even  of  personal  advantage,  as  to  be  ready  to  suspect  the  motives 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  557 

of  a  chief  magistrate  compelled,  for  the  first  time  in  our  history, 
to  feel  himself  the  head  and  hand  of  a  great  nation,  and  to  act  upon 
the  fundamental  maxim,  laid  down  by  all  publicists,  that  the  first 
duty  of  a  government  is  to  defend  and  maintain  its  own  existence. 
Accordingly,  a  powerful  weapon  seemed  to  be  put  into  the  hands 
of  the  opposition  by  the  necessity  under  which  the  administration 
found  itself  of  applying  this  old  truth  to  new  relations.  Nor  were 
the  opposition  his  only  nor  his  most  dangerous  opponents. 

The  Republicans  had  carried  the  country  upon  an  issue  in  which 
ethics  were  more  directly  and  visibly  mingled  with  politics  than 
usual.  Their  leaders  were  trained  to  a  method  of  oratory  which 
relied  for  its  effect  rather  on  the  moral  sense  than  the  understand 
ing.  Their  arguments  were  drawn,  not  so  much  from  experience 
as  from  general  principles  of  right  and  wrong.  When  the  war 
came,  their  system  continued  to  be  applicable  and  effective,  for 
here  again  the  reason  of  the  people  was  to  be  reached  and  kindled 
through  their  sentiments.  It  was  one  of  those  periods  of  excite 
ment,  gathering,  contagious,  universal,  which,  while  they  last,  exalt 
and  clarify  the  minds  of  men,  giving  to  the  mere  words  country, 
human  rights,  democracy,  a  meaning  and  a  force  beyond  that  of 
sober  and  logical  argument.  They  were  convictions,  maintained 
and  defended  by  the  supreme  logic  of  passion.  That  penetrating 
fire  ran  in  and  roused  those  primary  instincts  that  make  their  lair 
in  the  dens  and  caverns  of  the  mind.  What  is  called  the  great 
popular  heart  was  awakened,  that  indefinable  something  which  may 
be,  according  to  circumstances,  the  highest  reason  or  the  most 
brutish  unreason.  But  enthusiasm,  once  cold,  can  never  be  warmed 
over  into  anything  better  than  cant, — and  phrases,  when  once  the 
inspiration  that  filled  them  with  beneficent  power  has  ebbed  away, 
retain  only  that  semblance  of  meaning  which  enables  them  to  sup 
plant  reason  in  hasty  minds.  Among  the  lessons  taught  by  the 
French  Revolution  there  is  none  sadder  or  more  striking  than 
this,  that  you  may  make  everything  else  out  of  the  passions  of  men 
except  a  political  system  that  will  work,  and  that  there  is  nothing 
so  pitilessly  and  unconsciously  cruel  as  sincerity  formulated  into 
dogma.  It  is  always  demoralizing  to  extend  the  domain  of  senti 
ment  over  questions  where  it  has  no  legitimate  jurisdiction ;  and 


558        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

perhaps  the  severest  strain  upon  Mr.  Lincoln  was  in  resisting  a 
tendency  of  his  own  supporters  which  chimed  with  his  own  private 
desires  while  wholly  opposed  to  his  convictions  of  what  would  be 
wise  policy. 

The  change  which  three  years  have  brought  about  is  too  remark 
able  to  be  passed  over  without  comment,  too  weighty  in  its  lesson 
not  to  be  laid  to  heart.  Never  did  a  President  enter  upon  office 
with  less  means  at  his  command,  outside  his  own  strength  of  heart 
and  steadiness  of  understanding,  for  inspiring  confidence  in  the 
people,  and  so  winning  it  for  himself,  than  Mr.  Lincoln.  All  that 
was  known  of  him  was  that  he  was  a  good  stump-speaker,  nomi 
nated  for  his  availability, — that  is,  because  he  had  no  history, — 
and  chosen  by  a  party  with  whose  more  extreme  opinions  he  was 
not  in  sympathy.  It  might  well  be  feared  that  a  man  past  fifty, 
against  whom  the  ingenuity  of  hostile  partisans  could  rake  up  no 
accusation,  must  be  lacking  in  manliness  of  character,  in  decision 
of  principle,  in  strength  of  will ;  that  a  man  who  was  at  best  only 
the  representative  of  a  party,  and  who  yet  did  not  fairly  represent 
even  that,  would  fail  of  political,  much  more  of  popular,  support. 
And  certainly  no  one  ever  entered  upon  office  with  so  few  resources 
of  power  in  the  past,  and  so  many  materials  of  weakness  in  the 
present,  as  Mr.  Lincoln.  Even  in  that  half  of  the  Union  which 
acknowledged  him  as  President,  there  was  a  large,  and  at  that  time 
dangerous  minority,  that  hardly  admitted  his  claim  to  the  office, 
and  even  in  the  party  that  elected  him  there  was  also  a  large  minor 
ity  that  suspected  him  of  being  secretly  a  communicant  with  the 
church  of  Laodicea.  All  that  he  did  was  sure  to  be  virulently 
attacked  as  ultra  by  one  side ;  all  that  he  left  undone,  to  be  stig 
matized  as  proof  of  lukewarmness  and  backsliding  by  the  other. 
Meanwhile  he  was  to  carry  on  a  truly  colossal  war  by  means  of  both ; 
he  was  to  disengage  the  country  from  diplomatic  entanglements 
of  unprecedented  peril  undisturbed  by  the  help  or  hinderance  of 
either,  and  to  win  from  the  crowning  dangers  of  his  administra 
tion,  in  the  confidence  of  the  people,  the  means  of  his  safety  and 
their  own.  He  has  contrived  to  do  it,  and  perhaps  none  of  our 
Presidents  since  Washington  has  stood  so  firm  in  the  confidence  of 
the  people  as  he  does  after  three  years  of  stormy  administration. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  559 

Mr.  Lincoln's  policy  was  a  tentative  one,  and  rightly  so.  He 
laid  down  no  programme  which  must  compel  him  to  be  either  in 
consistent  or  unwise,  no  cast-iron  theorem  to  which  circumstances 
must  be  fitted  as  they  rose,  or  else  be  useless  to  his  ends.  He 
seemed  to  have  chosen  Mazarin's  motto,  Le  temps  et  moi.  The 
moi,  to  be  sure,  was  not  very  prominent  at  first ;  but  it  has  grown 
more  and  more  so,  till  the  world  is  beginning  to  be  persuaded  that 
it  stands  for  a  character  of  marked  individuality  and  capacity  for 
affairs.  Time  was  his  prime-minister,  and,  we  began  to  think,  at 
one  period,  his  general-in-chief  also.  At  first  he  was  so  slow  that 
he  tired  out  all  those  who  see  no  evidence  of  progress  but  in  blow 
ing  up  the  engine ;  then  he  was  so  fast,  that  he  took  the  breath 
away  from  those  who  think  there  is  no  getting  on  safely  while  there 
is  a  spark  of  fire  under  the  boilers.  God  is  the  only  being  who 
has  time  enough  ;  but  a  prudent  man,  who  knows  how  to  seize 
occasion,  can  commonly  make  a  shift  to  find  as  much  as  he  needs. 
Mr.  Lincoln,  as  it  seems  to  us  in  reviewing  his  career,  though  we 
have  sometimes  in  our  impatience  thought  otherwise,  has  always 
waited,  as  a  wise  man  should,  till  the  right  moment  brought  up  all 
his  reserves.  Semper  nocuit  differe  paratis,  is  a  sound  axiom,  but 
the  really  efficacious  man  will  also  be  sure  to  know  when  he  is  not 
ready,  and  be  firm  against  all  persuasion  and  reproach  till  he  is. 

One  would  be  apt  to  think,  from  some  of  the  criticisms  made 
on  Mr.  Lincoln's  course  by  those  who  mainly  agree  with  him  in 
principle,  that  the  chief  object  of  a  statesman  should  be  rather  to 
proclaim  his  adhesion  to  certain  doctrines,  than  to  achieve  their 
triumph  by  quietly  accomplishing  his  ends.  In  our  opinion,  there 
is  no  more  unsafe  politician  than  a  conscientiously  rigid  doctrinaire, 
nothing  more  sure  to  end  in  disaster  than  a  theoretic  scheme  of 
policy  that  admits  of  no  pliability  for  contingencies.  True,  there  is 
a  popular  image  of  an  impossible  He,  in  whose  plastic  hands  the 
submissive  destinies  of  mankind  become  as  wax,  and  to  whose  com 
manding  necessity  the  toughest  facts  yield  with  the  graceful  pliancy 
of  fiction  ;  but  in  real  life  we  commonly  find  that  the  men  who  con 
trol  circumstances,  as  it  is  called,  are  those  who  have  learned  to 
allow  for  the  influence  of  their  eddies,  and  have  the  nerve  to  turn 
them  to  account  at  the  happy  instant.  Mr.  Lincoln's  perilous  task 


560        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

has  been  to  carry  a  rather  shaky  raft  through  the  rapids,  making  fast 
the  unrulier  logs  as  he  could  snatch  opportunity,  and  the  country  is 
to  be  congratulated  that  he  did  not  think  it  his  duty  to  run  straight 
at  all  hazards,  but  cautiously  to  assure  himself  with  his  setting-pole 
where  the  main  current  was,  and  keep  steadily  to  that.  He  is  still 
in  wild  water,  but  we  have  faith  that  his  skill  and  sureness  of  eye 
will  bring  him  out  right  at  last. 

A  curious,  and,  as  we  think,  not  inapt  parallel,  might  be  drawn 
between  Mr.  Lincoln  and  one  of  the  most  striking  figures  in  mod 
ern  history,  —  Henry  IV  of  France.  The  career  of  the  latter  may 
be  more  picturesque,  as  that  of  a  daring  captain  always  is ;  but  in 
all  its  vicissitudes  there  is  nothing  more  romantic  than  that  sudden 
change,  as  by  a  rub  of  Aladdin's  lamp,  from  the  attorney's  office 
in  a  country  town  of  Illinois  to  the  helm  of  a  great  nation  in  times 
like  these.  The  analogy  between  the  characters  and  circumstances 
of  the  two  men  is  in  many  respects  singularly  close.  Succeeding 
to  a  rebellion  rather  than  a  crown,  Henry's  chief  material  depend 
ence  was  the  Huguenot  party,  whose  doctrines  sat  upon  him  with 
a  looseness  distasteful  certainly,  if  not  suspicious,  to  the  more 
fanatical  among  them.  King  only  in  name  over  the  greater  part 
of  France,  and  with  his  capital  barred  against  him,  it  yet  gradually 
became  clear  to  the  more  far-seeing  even  of  the  Catholic  party 
that  he  was  the  only  centre  of  order  and  legitimate  authority  round 
which  France  could  reorganize  itself.  While  preachers  who  held 
the  divine  right  of  kings  made  the  churches  of  Paris  ring  with 
declamations  in  favor  of  democracy  rather  than  submit  to  the 
heretic  dog  of  a  Be"arnois,  —  much  as  our  soi-disant  Democrats 
have  lately  been  preaching  the  divine  right  of  slavery,  and  denounc 
ing  the  heresies  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  —  Henry 
bore  both  parties  in  hand  till  he  was  convinced  that  only  one  course 
of  action  could  possibly  combine  his  own  interests  and  those  of 
France.  Meanwhile  the  Protestants  believed  somewhat  doubtfully 
that  he  was  theirs,  the  Catholics  hoped  somewhat  doubtfully  that 
he  would  be  theirs,  and  Henry  himself  turned  aside  remonstrance, 
advice,  and  curiosity  alike  with  a  jest  or  a  proverb  (if  a  little  high, 
he  liked  them  none  the  worse),  joking  continually  as  his  manner 
was.  We  have  seen  Mr.  Lincoln  contemptuously  compared  to 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  561 

Sancho  Panza  by  persons  incapable  of  appreciating  one  of  the 
deepest  pieces  of  wisdom  in  the  profoundest  romance  ever  written  ; 
namely,  that,  while  Don  Quixote  was  incomparable  in  theoretic 
and  ideal  statesmanship,  Sancho,  with  his  stock  of  proverbs,  the 
ready  money  of  human  experience,  made  the  best  possible  prac 
tical  governor.  Henry  IV  was  as  full  of  wise  saws  and  modern 
instances  as  Mr.  Lincoln,  but  beneath  all  this  was  the  thoughtful, 
practical,  humane,  and  thoroughly  earnest  man,  around  whom  the 
fragments  of  France  were  to  gather  themselves  till  she  took  her 
place  again  as  a  planet  of  the  first  magnitude  in  the  European 
system.  In  one  respect  Mr.  Lincoln  was  more  fortunate  than 
Henry.  However  some  may  think  him  wanting  in  zeal>  the  most 
fanatical  can  find  no  taint  of  apostasy  in  any  measure  of  his,  nor 
can  the  most  bitter  charge  him  with  being  influenced  by  motives 
of  personal  interest.  The  leading  distinction  between  the  policies 
of  the  two  is  one  of  circumstances.  Henry  went  over  to  the  nation  ; 
Mr.  Lincoln  has  steadily  drawn  the  nation  over  to  him.  One  left 
a  united  France ;  the  other,  we  hope  and  believe,  will  leave  a  re 
united  America.  We  leave  our  readers  to  trace  the  further  points 
of  difference  and  resemblance  for  themselves,  merely  suggesting  a 
general  similarity  which  has  often  occurred  to  us.  One  only  point 
of  melancholy  interest  we  will  allow  ourselves  to  touch  upon.  That 
Mr.  Lincoln  is  not  handsome  nor  elegant  we  learn  from  certain 
English  tourists,  who  would  consider  similar  revelations  in  regard 
to  Queen  Victoria  as  thoroughly  American  in  their  want  of  bien- 
stance.  It  is  no  concern  of  ours,  nor  does  it  affect  his  fitness 
for  the  high  place  he  so  worthily  occupies ;  but  he  is  certainly  as 
fortunate  as  Henry  in  the  matter  of  good  looks,  if  we  may  trust 
contemporary  evidence.  Mr.  Lincoln  has  also  been  reproached 
with  Americanism  by  some  not  unfriendly  British  critics ;  but, 
with  all  deference,  we  cannot  say  that  we  like  him  any  the  worse 
for  it,  or  see  in  it  any  reason  why  he  should  govern  Americans 
the  less  wisely. 

People  of  more  sensitive  organizations  may  be  shocked,  but  we 
are  glad  that  in  this  our  true  war  of  independence,  which  is  to  free  us 
forever  from  the  Old  World,  we  have  had  at  the  head  of  our  affairs 
a  man  whom  America  made,  as  God  made  Adam,  out  of  the  very 


562         READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

earth,  unancestried,  unprivileged,  unknown,  to  show  us  how  much 
truth,  how  much  magnanimity,  and  how  much  statecraft  await  the 
call  of  opportunity  in  simple  manhood  when  it  believes  in  the  justice 
of  God  and  the  worth  of  man.  Conventionalities  are  all  very  well 
in  their  proper  place,  but  they  shrivel  at  the  touch  of  nature  like 
stubble  in  the  fire.  The  genius  that  sways  a  nation  by  its  arbitrary 
will  seems  less  august  to  us  than  that  which  multiplies  and  reinforces 
itself  in  the  instincts  and  convictions  of  an  entire  people.  Autocracy 
may  have  something  in  it  more  melodramatic  than  this,  but  falls 
far  short  of  it  in  human  value  and  interest. 

Experience  would  have  bred  in  us  a  rooted  distrust  of  improvised 
statesmanship,  even  if  we  did  not  believe  politics  to  be  a  science, 
which,  if  it  cannot  always  command  men  of  special  aptitude  and 
great  powers,  at  least  demands  the  long  and  steady  application  of 
the  best  powers  of  such  men  as  it  can  command  to  master  even  its 
first  principles.  It  is  curious,  that,  in  a  country  which  boasts  of 
its  intelligence  the  theory  should  be  so  generally  held  that  the  most 
complicated  of  human  contrivances,  and  one  which  every  day  be 
comes  more  complicated,  can  be  worked  at  sight  by  any  man  able 
to  talk  for  an  hour  or  two  without  stopping  to  think. 

Mr.  Lincoln  is  sometimes  claimed  as  an  example  of  a  ready-made 
ruler.  But  no  case  could  well  be  less  in  point ;  for,  besides  that 
he  was  a  man  of  such  fair-mindedness  as  is  always  the  raw  material 
of  wisdom,  he  had  in  his  profession  a  training  precisely  the  opposite 
of  that  to  which  a  partisan  is  subjected.  His  experience  as  a  lawyer 
compelled  him  not  only  to  see  that  there  is  a  principle  underlying 
every  phenomenon  in  human  affairs,  but  that  there  are  always  two 
sides  to  every  question,  both  of  which  must  be  fully  understood  in 
order  to  understand  either,  and  that  it  is  of  greater  advantage  to 
an  advocate  to  appreciate  the  strength  than  the  weakness  of  his 
antagonist's  position.  Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  the  un 
erring  tact  with  which,  in  his  debate  with  Mr.  Douglas,  he  went 
straight  to  the  reason  of  the  question  ;  nor  have  we  ever  had  a  more 
striking  lesson  in  political  tactics  than  the  fact,  that  opposed  to  a 
man  exceptionally  adroit  in  using  popular  prejudice  and  bigotry  to 
his  purpose,  exceptionally  unscrupulous  in  appealing  to  those  baser 
motives  that  turn  a  meeting  of  citizens  into  a  mob  of  barbarians5 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  563 

he  should  yet  have  won  his  case  before  a  jury  of  the  people. 
Mr.  Lincoln  was  as  far  as  possible  from  an  impromptu  politician. 
His  wisdom  was  made  up  of  a  knowledge  of  things  as  well  as 
of  men ;  his  sagacity  resulted  from  a  clear  perception  and  honest 
acknowledgment  of  difficulties,  which  enabled  him  to  see  that  the 
only  durable  triumph  of  political  opinion  is  based,  not  on  any  ab-  ' 
stract  right,  but  upon  so  much  of  justice,  the  highest  attainable  : 
at  any  given  moment  in  human  affairs,  as  may  be  had  in  the  balance 
of  mutual  concession.  Doubtless  he  had  an  ideal,  but  it  was  the 
ideal  of  a  practical  statesman,  —  to  aim  at  the  best,  and  to  take 
the  next  best,  if  he  is  lucky  enough  to  get  even  that.  His  slow, 
but  singularly  masculine,  intelligence  taught  him  that  precedent  is 
only  another  name  for  embodied  experience,  and  that  it  counts  for 
even  more  in  the  guidance  of  communities  of  men  than  in  that  of 
the  individual  life.  He  was  not  a  man  who  held  it  good  public 
economy  to  pull  down  on  the  mere  chance  of  rebuilding  better. 
Mr.  Lincoln's  faith  in  God  was  qualified  by  a  very  well-founded 
distrust  of  the  wisdom  of  man.  Perhaps  it  was  his  want  of  self- 
confidence  that  more  than  anything  else  won  him  the  unlimited 
confidence  of  the  people,  for  they  felt  that  there  would  be  no  need 
of  retreat  from  any  position  he  had  deliberately  taken.  The  cautious, 
but  steady,  advance  of  his  policy  during  the  war  was  like  that  of  a 
Roman  army.  He  left  behind  him  a  firm  road  on  which  public 
confidence  could  follow;  he  took  America  with  him  where  he 
went ;  what  he  gained  he  occupied,  and  his  advanced  posts  became 
colonies.  The  very  homeliness  of  his  genius  was  its  distinction. 
His  kingship  was  conspicuous  by  its  workday  homespun.  Never 
was  ruler  so  absolute  as  he,  nor  so  little  conscious  of  it ;  for  he 
was  the  incarnate  common-sense  of  the  people.  With,  all  that 
tenderness  of  nature  whose  sweet  sadness  touched  whoever  saw 
him  with  something  of  its  own  pathos,  there  was  no  trace  of  sen- 
timentalism  in  his  speech  or  action.  He  seems  to  have  had.  but 
one  rule  of  conduct,  always  that  of  practical  and  successful  poli 
tics,  to  let  himself  be  guided  by  events,  when  they  were  sure  to 
bring  him  out  where  he  wished  to  go,  though  by  what  seemed 
to  unpractical  minds,  which  let  go  the  possible  to  grasp  at  the 
desirable,  a  longer  road. 


564        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Undoubtedly  the  highest  function  of  statesmanship  is  by  degrees 
to  accommodate  the  conduct  of  communities  to  ethical  laws,  and  to 
subordinate  the  conflicting  self-interests  of  the  day  to  higher  and 
more  permanent  concerns.  But  it  is  on  the  understanding,  and 
not  on  the  sentiment,  of  a  nation  that  all  safe  legislation  must  be 
based.  Voltaire's  saying,  that  "  a  consideration  of  petty  circum 
stances  is  the  tomb  of  great  things,"  may  be  true  of  individual  men, 
but  it  certainly  is  not  true  of  governments.  It  is  by  a  multitude  of 
such  considerations,  each  in  itself  trifling,  but  all  together  weighty, 
that  the  framers  of  policy  can  alone  divine  what  is  practicable  and 
therefore  wise.  The  imputation  of  inconsistency  is  one  to  which 
every  sound  politician  and  every  honest  thinker  must  sooner  or 
later  subject  himself.  The  foolish  and  the  dead  alone  never  change 
their  opinion.  The  course  of  a  great  statesman  resembles  that  of 
navigable  rivers,  avoiding  immovable  obstacles  with  noble  bends 
of  concession,  seeking  the  broad  levels  of  opinion  on  which  men 
soonest  settle  and  longest  dwell,  following  and  marking  the  almost 
imperceptible  slopes  of  national  tendency,  yet  always  aiming  at 
direct  advances,  always  recruited  from  sources  nearer  heaven,  and 
sometimes  bursting  open  paths  of  progress  and  fruitful  human 
commerce  through  what  seem  the  eternal  barriers  of  both.  It  is 
loyalty  to  great  ends,  even  though  forced  to  combine  the  small 
and  opposing  motives  of  selfish  men  to  accomplish  them ;  it  is 
the  anchored  cling  to  solid  principles  of  duty  and  action,  which 
knows  how  to  swing  with  the  tide,  but  is  never  carried  away  by 
it,  —  that  we  demand  in  public  men,  and  not  sameness  of  policy, 
or  a  conscientious  persistency  in  what  is  impracticable.  For  the 
impracticable,  however  theoretically  enticing,  is  always  politically 
unwise,  sound  statesmanship  being  the  application  of  that  pru 
dence  to  the  public  business  which  is  the  safest  guide  in  that  of 
private  men. 

No  doubt  slavery  was  the  most  delicate  and  embarrassing  question 
with  which  Mr.  Lincoln  was  called  on  to  deal,  and  it  was  one  which 
no  man  in  his  position,  whatever  his  opinions,  could  evade ;  for, 
though  he  might  withstand  the  clamor  of  partisans,  he  must  sooner 
or  later  yield  to  the  persistent  importunacy  of  circumstances,  which 
thrust  the  problem  upon  him  at  every  turn  and  in  every  shape. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

It  has  been  brought  against  us  as  an  accusation  abroad,  and 
repeated  here  by  people  who  measure  their  country  rather  by  what 
is  thought  of  it  than  by  what  it  is,  that  our  war  has  not  been  dis 
tinctly  and  avowedly  for  the  extinction  of  slavery,  but  a  war  rather 
for  the  preservation  of  our  national  power  and  greatness,  in  which 
the  emancipation  of  the  negro  has  been  forced  upon  us  by  circum 
stances  and  accepted  as  a  necessity.  We  are  very  far  from  denying 
this ;  nay,  we  admit  that  it  is  so  far  true  that  we  were  slow  to  re 
nounce  our  constitutional  obligations  even  toward  those  who  had 
absolved  us  by  their  own  act  from  the  letter  of  our  duty.  We  are 
speaking  of  the  government  which,  legally  installed  for  the  whole 
country,  was  bound,  so  long  as  it  was  possible,  not  to  overstep  the 
limits  of  orderly  prescription,  and  could  not,  without  abnegating  its 
own  very  nature,  take  the  lead  in  making  rebellion  an  excuse  for 
revolution.  There  were,  no  doubt,  many  ardent  and  sincere  persons 
who  seemed  to  think  this  as  simple  a  thing  to  do  as  to  lead  off  a 
Virginia  reel.  They  forgot,  what  should  be  forgotten  least  of  all 
in  a  system  like  ours,  that  the  administration  for  the  time  being 
represents  not  only  the  majority  which  elects  it,  but  the  minority 
as  well,  —  a  minority  in  this  case  powerful,  and  so  little  ready  for 
emancipation  that  it  was  opposed  even  to  war.  Mr.  Lincoln  had 
not  been  chosen  as  general  agent  of  an  anti-slavery  society,  but 
President  of  the  United  States,  to  perform  certain  functions  exactly 
defined  by  law.  Whatever  were  his  wishes,  it  was  no  less  duty  than 
policy  to  mark  out  for  himself  a  line  of  action  that  would  not  further 
distract  the  country,  by  raising  before  their  time  questions  which 
plainly  would  soon  enough  compel  attention,  and  for  which  every 
day  was  making  the  answer  more  easy. 

Meanwhile  he  must  solve  the  riddle  of  this  new  Sphinx,  or  be 
devoured.  Though  Mr.  Lincoln's  policy  in  this  critical  affair  has 
not  been  such  as  to  satisfy  those  who  demand  an  heroic  treatment 
for  even  the  most  trifling  occasion,  and  who  will  not  cut  their  coat 
according  to  their  cloth,  unless  they  can  borrow  the  scissors  of 
Atropos,  it  has  been  at  least  not  unworthy  of  the  long-headed  king 
of  Ithaca.  Mr.  Lincoln  had  the  choice  of  Bassanio  offered  him. 
Which  of  the  three  caskets  held  the  prize  that  was  to  redeem  the 
fortunes  of  the  country  ?  There  was  the  golden  one  whose  showy 


566        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

spaciousness  might  have  tempted  a  vain  man  ;  the  silver  of  com 
promise,  which  might  have  decided  the  choice  of  a  merely  acute 
one ;  and  the  leaden,  —  dull  and  homely-looking,  as  prudence 
always  is,  —  yet  with  something  about  it  sure  to  attract  the  eye  of 
practical  wisdom.  •  Mr.  Lincoln  dallied  with  his  decision  perhaps 
longer  than  seemed  needful  to  those  on  whom  its  awful  responsi 
bility  was  not  to  rest,  but  when  he  made  it,  it  was  worthy  of  his 
cautious  but  sure-footed  understanding.  The  moral  of  the  Sphinx- 
riddle,  and  it  is  a  deep  one,  lies  in  the  childish  simplicity  of  the 
solution.  Those  who  fail  in  guessing  it,  fail  because  they  are  over- 
ingenious,  and  cast  about  for  an  answer  that  shall  suit  their  own 
notion  of  the  gravity  of  the  occasion  and  of  their  own  dignity, 
rather  than  the  occasion  itself. 

In  a  matter  which  must  be  finally  settled  by  public  opinion,  and 
in  regard  to  which  the  ferment  of  prejudice  and  passion  on  both 
sides  has  not  yet  subsided  to  that  equilibrium  of  compromise  from 
which  alone  a  sound  public  opinion  can  result,  it  is  proper  enough 
for  the  private  citizen  to  press  his  own  convictions  with  all  possible 
force  of  argument  and  persuasion  ;  but  the  popular  magistrate, 
whose  judgment  must  become  action,  and  whose  action  involves 
the  whole  country,  is  bound  to  wait  till  the  sentiment  of  the  people 
is  so  far  advanced  toward  his  own  point  of  view,  that  what  he  does 
shall  find  support  in  it,  instead  of  merely  confusing  it  with  new 
elements  of  division.  It  was  not  unnatural  that  men  earnestly  de 
voted  to  the  saving  of  their  country,  and  profoundly  convinced 
that  slavery  was  its  only  real  enemy,  should  demand  a  decided 
policy  round  which  all  patriots  might  rally,  —  and  this  might  have 
been  the  wisest  course  for  an  absolute  ruler.  But  in  the  then  un 
settled  state  of  the  public  mind,  with  a  large  party  decrying  even 
resistance  to  the  slaveholders'  rebellion  as  not  only  unwise,  but 
even  unlawful ;  with  a  majority,  perhaps,  even  of  the  would-be 
loyal  so  long  accustomed  to  regard  the  Constitution  as  a  deed  of 
gift  conveying  to  the  South  their  own  judgment  as  to  policy  and 
instinct  as  to  right,  that  they  were  in  doubt  at  first  whether  their 
loyalty  were  due  to  the  country  or  to  slavery ;  and  with  a  respect 
able  body  of  honest  and  influential  men  who  still  believed  in 
the  possibility  of  conciliation,  —  Mr.  Lincoln  judged  wisely,  that, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  567 

in  laying  down  a  policy  in  deference  to  one  party,  he  should  be 
giving  to  the  other  the  very  fulcrum  for  which  their  disloyalty 
had  been  waiting. 

It  behooved  a  clear-headed  man  in  his  position  not  to  yield  so 
far  to  an  honest  indignation  against  the  brokers  of  treason  in  the 
North  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  materials  for  misleading  which  were 
their  stock  in  trade,  and  to  forget  that  it  is  not  the  falsehood  of 
sophistry  which  is  to  be  feared,  but  the  grain  of  truth  mingled 
with  it  to  make  it  specious,  —  that  it  is  not  the  knavery  of  the 
leaders  so  much  as  the  honesty  of  the  followers  they  may  seduce,, 
that  gives  them  power  for  evil.  It  was  especially  his  duty  to  do 
nothing  which  might  help  the  people  to  forget  the  true  cause  of 
the  war  in  fruitless  disputes  about  its  inevitable  consequences. 

The  doctrine  of  State  rights  can  be  so  handled  by  an  adroit 
demagogue  as  easily  to  confound  the  distinction  between  liberty 
and  lawlessness  in  the  minds  of  ignorant  persons,  accustomed 
always  to  be  influenced  by  the  sound  of  certain  words,  rather  than 
to  reflect  upon  the  principles  which  give  them  meaning.  For, 
though  Secession  involves  the  manifest  absurdity  of  denying  to 
a  State  the  right  of  making  war  against  any  foreign  power  while 
permitting  it  against  the  United  States  ;  though  it  supposes  a 
compact  of  mutual  concessions  and  guaranties  among  States 
without  any  arbiter  in  case  of  dissension  ;  though  it  contradicts 
common-sense  in  assuming  that  the  men  who  framed  our  govern 
ment  did  not  know  what  they  meant  when  they  substituted  Union 
for  Confederation  ;  though  it  falsifies  history,  which  shows  that 
the  main  opposition  to  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  was  based 
on  the  argument  that  it  did  not  allow  that  independence  in  the 
several  States  which  alone  would  justify  them  in  seceding; — yet, 
as  slavery  was  universally  admitted  to  be  a  reserved  right,  an 
inference  could  be  drawn  from  any  direct  attack  upon  it  (though 
only  in  self-defence)  to  a  natural  right  of  resistance,  logical  enough 
to  satisfy  minds  untrained  to  detect  fallacy,  as  the  majority  of  men 
always  are,  and  now  too  much  disturbed  by  the  disorder  of  the 
times,  to  consider  that  the  order  of  events  had  any  legitimate  bear 
ing  on  the  argument.  Though  Mr.  Lincoln  was  too  sagacious  to 
give  the  Northern  allies  of  the  Rebels  the  occasion  they  desired 


568        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

and  even  strove  to  provoke,  yet  from  the  beginning  of  the  war 
the  most  persistent  efforts  have  been  made  to  confuse  the  public 
mind  as  to  its  origin  and  motives,  and  to  drag  the  people  of  the 
loyal  States  down  from  the  national  position  they  had  instinctively 
taken  to  the  old  level  of  party  squabbles  and  antipathies.  The 
wholly  unprovoked  rebellion  of  an  oligarchy  proclaiming  negro 
slavery  the  corner-stone  of  free  institutions,  and  in  the  first  flush 
of  over-hasty  confidence  venturing  to  parade  the  logical  sequence 
of  their  leading  dogma,  "that  slavery  is  right  in  principle,  and 
has  nothing  to  do  with  difference  of  complexion,"  has  been  repre 
sented  as  a  legitimate  and  gallant  attempt  to  maintain  the  true 
principles  of  democracy.  The  rightful  endeavor  of  an  established 
government,  the  least  onerous  that  ever  existed,  to  defend  itself 
against  a  treacherous  attack  on  its  very  existence,  has  been  cun 
ningly  made  to  seem  the  wicked  effort  of  a  fanatical  clique  to 
force  its  doctrines  on  an  oppressed  population. 

Even  so  long  ago  as  when  Mr  Lincoln,  not  yet  convinced  of 
the  danger  and  magnitude  of  the  crisis,  was  endeavoring  to  per 
suade  himself  of  Union  majorities  at  the  South,  and  to  carry  on 
a  war  that  was  half  peace  in  the  hope  of  a  peace  that  would  have 
been  all  war, — while  he  was  still  enforcing  the  Fugitive  Slave 
Law,  under  some  theory  that  Secession,  however  it  might  absolve 
States  from  their  obligations,  could  not  escheat  them  of  their 
claims  under  the  Constitution,  and  that  slaveholders  in  rebellion 
had  alone  among  mortals  the  privilege  of  having  their  cake  and 
eating  it  at  the  same  time,  —  the  enemies  of  free  government 
were  striving  to  persuade  the  people  that  the  war  was  an  Abolition 
crusade.  To  rebel  without  reason  was  proclaimed  as  one  of  the 
rights  of  man,  while  it  was  carefully  kept  out  of  sight  that  to  sup 
press  rebellion  is  the  first  duty  of  government.  All  the  evils  that 
have  come  upon  the  country  have  been  attributed  to  the  Aboli 
tionists,  though  it  is  hard  to  see  how  any  party  can  become  per 
manently  powerful  except  in  one  of  two  ways,  —  either  by  the 
greater  truth  of  its  principles,  or  the  extravagance  of  the  party 
opposed  to  it.  To  fancy  the  ship  of  state,  riding  safe  at  her  con- 
stitutional  moorings,  suddenly  engulfed  by  a  huge  kraken  of  Aboli 
tionism,  rising  from  unknown  depths  and  grasping  it  with  slimy 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  569 

tentacles,  is  to  look  at  the  natural  history  of  the  matter  with  the 
eyes  of  Pontoppidan.  To  believe  that  the  leaders  in  the  Southern 
treason  feared  any  danger  from  Abolitionism,  would  be  to  deny 
them  ordinary  intelligence,  though  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
they  made  use  of  it  to  stir  the  passions  and  excite  the  fears  of 
their  deluded  accomplices.  They  rebelled,  not  because  they  thought 
slavery  weak,  but  because  they  believed  it  strong  enough,  not  to 
overthrow  the  government,  but  to  get  possession  of  it ;  for  it  be 
comes  daily  clearer  that  they  used  rebellion  only  as  a  means  of 
revolution,  and  if  they  got  revolution,  though  not  in  the  shape 
they  looked  for,  is  the  American  people  to  save  them  from  its 
consequences  at  the  cost  of  its  own  existence  ?  The  election  of 
Mr.  Lincoln,  which  it  was  clearly  in  their  power  to  prevent  had 
they  wished,  was  the  occasion  merely,  and  not  the  cause,  of  their 
revolt.  Abolitionism,  till  within  a  year  or  two,  was  the  despised 
heresy  of  a  few  earnest  persons,  without  political  weight  enough 
to  carry  the  election  of  a  parish  constable ;  and  their  cardinal 
principle  was  disunion,  because  they  were  convinced  that  within 
the  Union  the  position  of  slavery  was  impregnable.  In  spite  of 
the  proverb,  great  effects  do  not  follow  from  small  causes,  —  that 
is,  disproportionately  small,  —  but  from  adequate  causes  acting 
under  certain  required  conditions.  To  contrast  the  size  of  the 
oak  with  that  of  the  parent  acorn,  as  if  the  poor  seed  had  paid 
all  costs  from  its  slender  strong-box,  may  serve  for  a  child's 
wonder ;  but  the  real  miracle  lies  in  that  divine  league  which 
bound  all  the  forces  of  nature  to  the  service  of  the  tiny  germ  in 
fulfilling  its  destiny.  Everything  has  been  at  work  for  the  past 
ten  years  in  the  cause  of  anti-slavery,  but  Garrison  and  Phillips 
have  been  far  less  successful  propagandists  than  the  slaveholders 
themselves,  with  the  constantly  growing  arrogance  of  their  pre 
tensions  and  encroachments.  They  have  forced  the  question  upon 
the  attention  of  every  voter  in  the  Free  States,  by  defiantly  putting 
freedom  and  democracy  on  the  defensive.  But,  even  after  the 
Kansas  outrages,  there  was  no  wide-spread  desire  on  the  part  of 
the  North  to  commit  aggressions,  though  there  was  a  growing 
determination  to  resist  them.  The  popular  unanimity  in  favor  of 
the  war  three  years  ago  was  but  in  small  measure  the  result  of 


5/0        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

anti-slavery  sentiment,  far  less  of  any  zeal  for  abolition.  But  every 
month  of  the  war,  every  movement  of  the  allies  of  slavery  in  the 
Free  States,  has  been  making  Abolitionists  by  the  thousand.  The 
masses  of  any  people,  however  intelligent,  are  very  little  moved 
by  abstract  principles  of  humanity  and  justice,  until  those  prin 
ciples  are  interpreted  for  them  by  the  stinging  commentary  of 
some  infringement  upon  their  own  rights,  and  then  their  instincts 
and  passions,  once  aroused,  do  indeed  derive  an  incalculable  rein 
forcement  of  impulse  and  intensity  from  those  higher  ideas,  those 
sublime  traditions,  which  have  no  motive  political  force  till  they 
are  allied  with  a  sense  of  immediate  personal  wrong  or  imminent 
peril.  Then  at  last  the  stars  in  their  courses  begin  to  fight  against 
Sisera.  Had  any  one  doubted  before  that  the  rights  of  human 
nature  are  unitary,  that  oppression  is  of  one  hue  the  world  over, 
no  matter  what  the  color  of  the  oppressed,  —  had  any  one  failed 
to  see  what  the  real  essence  of  the  contest  was,  —  the  efforts  of 
the  advocates  of  slavery  among  ourselves  to  throw  discredit  upon 
the  fundamental  axioms  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and  the 
radical  doctrines  of  Christianity,  could  not  fail  to  sharpen  his  eyes. 
While  every  day  was  bringing  the  people  nearer  to  the  con 
clusion  which  all  thinking  men  saw  to  be  inevitable  from  the  be 
ginning,  it  was  wise  in  Mr.  Lincoln  to  leave  the  shaping  of  his 
policy  to  events.  In  this  country,  where  the  rough  and  ready 
understanding  of  the  people  is  sure  at  last  to  be  the  controlling 
power,  a  profound  common-sense  is  the  best  genius  for  statesman 
ship.  Hitherto  the  wisdom  of  the  President's  measures  has  been 
justified  by  the  fact  that  they  have  always  resulted  in  more  firmly 
uniting  public  opinion.  One  of  the  things  particularly  admirable 
in  the  public  utterances  of  President  Lincoln  is  a  certain  tone  of 
familiar  dignity,  which,  while  it  is  perhaps  the  most  difficult  at 
tainment  of  mere  style,  is  also  no  doubtful  indication  of  personal 
character.  There  must  be  something  essentially  noble  in  an  elec 
tive  ruler  who  can  descend  to  the  level  of  confidential  ease  without 
losing  respect,  something  very  manly  in  one  who  can  break  through 
the  etiquette  of  his  conventional  rank  and  trust  himself  to  the 
reason  and  intelligence  of  those  who  have  elected  him.  No  higher 
compliment  was  ever  paid  to  a  nation  than  the  simple  confidence, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  571 

the  fireside  plainness,  with  which  Mr.  Lincoln  always  addresses 
himself  to  the  reason  of  the  American  people.  This  was,  indeed, 
a  true  democrat,  who  grounded  himself  on  the  assumption  that  a 
democracy  can  think.  "  Come,  let  us  reason  together  about  this 
matter,"  has  been  the  tone  of  all  his  addresses  to  the  people ;  and 
accordingly  we  have  never  had  a  chief  magistrate  who  so  won 
to  himself  the  love  and  at  the  same  time  the  judgment  of  his 
countrymen.  To  us,  that  simple  confidence  of  his  in  the  right- 
mindedness  of  his  fellow-men  is  very  touching,  and  its  success  is 
as  strong  an  argument  as  we  have  ever  seen  in  favor  of  the  theory 
that  men  can  govern  themselves.  He  never  appeals  to  any  vulgar 
sentiment,  he  never  alludes  to  the  humbleness  of  his  origin ;  it 
probably  never  occurred  to  him,  indeed,  that  there  was  anything 
higher  to  start  from  than  manhood ;  and  he  put  himself  on  a  level 
with  those  he  addressed,  not  by  going  down  to  them,  but  only  by 
taking  it  for  granted  that  they  had  brains  and  would  come  up  to 
a  common  ground  of  reason.  In  an  article  lately  printed  in  The 
Nation,  Mr.  Bayard  Taylor  mentions  the  striking  fact,  that  in  the 
foulest  dens  of  the  Five  Points  he  found  the  portrait  of  Lincoln. 
The  wretched  population  that  makes  its  hive  there  threw  all  its 
votes  and  more  against  him,  and  yet  paid  this  instinctive  tribute 
to  the  sweet  humanity  of  his  nature.  There  ignorance  sold  its 
vote  and  took  its  money,  but  all  that  was  left  of  manhood  in 
them  recognized  its  saint  and  martyr. 

Mr.  Lincoln  is  not  in  the  habit  of  saying,  "  This  is  my  opinion, 
or  my  theory,"  but  "  This  is  the  conclusion  to  which,  in  my  judg 
ment,  the  time  has  come,  and  to  which,  accordingly,  the  sooner 
we  come  the  better  for  us."  His  policy  has  been  the  policy  of 
public  opinion  based  on  adequate  discussion  and  on  a  timely  recog 
nition  of  the  influence  of  passing  events  in  shaping  the  features 
of  events  to  come. 

One  secret  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  remarkable  success  in  captivating 
the  popular  mind  is  undoubtedly  an  unconsciousness  of  self  which 
enables  him,  though  under  the  necessity  of  constantly  using  the 
capital  /,  to  do  it  without  any  suggestion  of  egotism.  There  is  no 
single  vowel  which  men's  mouths  can  pronounce  with  such  differ 
ence  of  effect.  That  which  one  shall  hide  away,  as  it  were,  behind 


572         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

the  substance  of  his  discourse,  or,  if  he  bring  it  to  the  front, 
shall  use  merely  to  give  an  agreeable  accent  of  individuality  to 
what  he  says,  another  shall  make  an  offensive  challenge  to  the  self- 
satisfaction  of  all  his  hearers,  and  an  unwarranted  intrusion  upon 
each  man's  sense  of  personal  importance,  irritating  every  pore 
of  his  vanity,  like  a  dry  northeast  wind,  to  a  goose-flesh  of  oppo 
sition  and  hostility.  Mr.  Lincoln  has  never  studied  Quintilian  ; 
but  he  has,  in  the  earnest  simplicity  and  unaffected  American 
ism  of  his  own  character,  one  art  of  oratory  worth  all  the  rest. 
He  forgets  himself  so  entirely  in  his  object  as  to  give  his  /  the 
sympathetic  and  persuasive  effect  of  We  with  the  great  body  of 
his  countrymen.  Homely,  dispassionate,  showing  all  the  rough- 
edged  process  of  his  thought  as  it  goes  along,  yet  arriving  at  his 
conclusions  with  an  honest  kind  of  every-day  logic,  he  is  so  eminently 
our  representative  man,  that,  when  he  speaks,  it  seems  as  if  the 
people  were  listening  to  their  own  thinking  aloud.  The  dignity  of 
his  thought  owes  nothing  to  any  ceremonial  garb  of  words,  but  to 
the  manly  movement  that  comes  of  settled  purpose  and  an  energy 
of  reason  that  knows  not  what  rhetoric  means.  There  has  been 
nothing  of  Cleon,  still  less  of  Strepsiades  striving  to  underbid  him 
in  demagogism,  to  be  found  in  the  public  utterances  of  Mr.  Lin 
coln.  He  has  always  addressed  the  intelligence  of  men,  never 
their  prejudice,  their  passion,  or  their  ignorance. 


On  the  day  of  his  death,  this  simple  Western  attorney,  who 
according  to  one  party  was  a  vulgar  joker,  and  whom  the  doctri 
naires  among  his  own  supporters  accused  of  wanting  every  element 
of  statesmanship,  was  the  most  absolute  ruler  in  Christendom,  and 
this  solely  by  the  hold  his  good-humored  sagacity  had  laid  on  the 
hearts  and  understandings  of  his  countrymen.  Nor  was  this  all, 
for  it  appeared  that  he  had  drawn  the  great  majority,  not  only  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  but  of  mankind  also,  to  his  side.  So  strong 
and  so  persuasive  is  honest  manliness  without  a  single  quality  of 
romance  or  unreal  sentiment  to  help  it !  A  civilian  during  times 
of  the  most  captivating  military  achievement,  awkward,  with  no 
skill  in  the  lower  technicalities  of  manners,  he  left  behind  him 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  573 

a  fame  beyond  that  of  any  conqueror,  the  memory  of  a  grace 
higher  than  that  of  outward  person,  and  of  a  gentlemanliness 
deeper  than  mere  breeding.  Never  before  that  startled  April  morn 
ing  did  such  multitudes  of  men  shed  tears  for  the  death  of  one 
they  had  never  seen,  as  if  with  him  a  friendly  presence  had  been 
taken  away  from  their  lives,  leaving  them  colder  and  darker.  Never 
was  funeral  panegyric  so  eloquent  as  the  silent  look  of  sympathy 
which  strangers  exchanged  when  they  met  on  that  day.  Their 
common  manhood  had  lost  a  kinsman. 


WALT  WHITMAN 

[Born  at  West  Hills,  Long  Island,  New  York,  May  31,  1819;  died  at 
Camden,  New  Jersey,  March  26,  1892] 

I  HEAR  AMERICA  SINGING 

I  hear  America  singing,  the  varied  carols  I  hear  ; 

Those  of  mechanics,  each  one  singing  his,  as  it  should  be,  blithe 
and  strong ; 

The  carpenter  singing  his  as  he  measures  his  plank  or  beam  ; 

The  mason  singing  his  as  he  makes  ready  for  work,  or  leaves 
off  work ; 

The  boatman  singing  what  belongs  to  him  in  his  boat,  the  deck 
hand  singing  on  the  steamboat  deck ; 

The  shoemaker  singing  as  he  sits  on  his  bench,  the  hatter  singing 
as  he  stands ; 

The  woodcutter's  song,  the  ploughboy's  on  his  way  in  the  morn 
ing,  or  at  noon  intermission  or  at  sundown  ; 

The  delicious  singing  of  the  mother,  or  of  the  young  wife  at  work, 
or  of  the  girl  sewing  or  washing, 

Each  singing  what  belongs  to  her  and  to  none  else ; 

The  day  what  belongs  to  the  day  —  at  night,  the  party  of  young 
fellows,  robust,  friendly, 

Singing  with  open  mouths  their  strong  melodious  songs. 


574        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

BY  THE  BIVOUAC'S  FITFUL  FLAME 

By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame, 

A  procession  winding  around  me,  solemn  and  sweet  and  slow ;  — 

but  first  I  note, 

The  tents  of  the  sleeping  army,  the  fields'  and  woods'  dim  outline, 
The  darkness,  lit  by  spots  of  kindled  fire  —  the  silence  ; 
Like  a  phantom  far  or  near  an  occasional  figure  moving ; 
The  shrubs  and  trees,  (as  I  lift  my  eyes  they  seem  to  be  stealthily 

watching  me ;) 

While  wind  in  procession  thoughts,  O  tender  and  wondrous  thoughts, 
Of  life  and  death  —  of  home  and  the  past  and  loved,  and  of  those 

that  are  far  away  ; 

A  solemn  and  slow  procession  there  as  I  sit  on  the  ground, 
By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame. 


O  CAPTAIN!    MY  CAPTAIN! 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  our  fearful  trip  is  done ; 
The  ship  has  weathered  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought  is  won ; 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring : 
But  O  heart !  heart !  heart ! 
O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

O  Captain  !  my  Captain  !  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells  ; 

Rise  up  —  for  you  the  flag  is  flung  —  for  you  the  bugle  trills, 

For  you  bouquets  and   ribbon'd   wreaths  —  for  you  the  shores 

a-crowding ; 

For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning ; 
Here  Captain  !  dear  father  ! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head  ! 

It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck, 
You  've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  575 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still ; 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will ; 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed  and  done; 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship,  comes  in  with  object  won ; 
Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells ! 
But  I,  with  mournful  tread, 

Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


A  SIGHT  IN  CAMP  IN  THE  DAY-BREAK  GREY  AND  DIM 

A  sight  in  camp  in  the  day-break  grey  and  dim, 

As  from  my  tent  I  emerge  so  early,  sleepless, 

As  slow  I  walk  in  the  cool  fresh  air,  the  path  near  by  the  hospital 

tent, 
Three  forms  I  see  on  stretchers  lying,  brought  out  there  untended 

tying, 

Over  each  the  blanket  spread,  ample  brownish  woolen  blanket, 
Grey  and  heavy  blanket,  folding,  covering  all. 

Curious,  I  halt  and  silent  stand  ; 

Then  with  light  fingers  I  from  the  face  of  the  nearest,  the  first, 

just  lift  the  blanket : 
Who  are  you,  elderly  man  so  gaunt  and  grim,  with  well-grey' d 

hair,  and  flesh  all  sunken  about  the  eyes  ? 
Who  are  you,  my  dear  comrade  ? 
Then  to  the  second  I  step  —  and  who  are  you,   my  child  and 

darling  ? 
Who  are  you,  sweet  boy,  with  cheeks  yet  blooming  ? 

Then  to  the  third  —  a  face  nor  child,  nor  old,  very  calm,  as  of 

beautiful  yellow-white  ivory  ; 
Young  man,  I  think  I  know  you  —  I  think  this  face  of  yours  is 

the  face  of  the  Christ  himself ; 
Dead  and  divine,  and  brother  of  all,  and  here  again  he  lies. 


5/6        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

A  NOISELESS,  PATIENT  SPIDER 

A  noiseless,  patient  spider, 

I  mark'd,  where,  on  a  little  promontory,  it  stood,  isolated ; 

Mark'd  how,  to  explore  the  vacant,  vast  surrounding, 

It  launch 'd  forth  filament,  filament,  filament,  out  of  itself ; 

Ever  unreeling  them  —  ever  tirelessly  speeding  them. 

And  you,  O  my  Soul,  where  you  stand, 

Surrounded,  surrounded,  in  measureless  oceans  of  space, 

Ceaselessly  musing,  venturing,  throwing,  —  seeking  the  spheres, 

to  connect  them ; 
Till  the  bridge  you  will  need,  be  form'd  —  till  the  ductile  anchor 

hold; 
Till  the  gossamer  thread  you  fling,  catch  somewhere,  O  my  Soul. 


HUSH'D  BE  THE  CAMPS  TO-DAY 

i 

Hush'd  be  the  camps  to-day  ; 
And,  soldiers,  let  us  drape  our  war-worn  weapons ; 
And  each  with  musing  soul  retire,  to  celebrate, 
Our  dear  commander's  death. 

No  more  for  him  life's  stormy  conflicts  ; 

Nor  victory,  nor  defeat  —  no  more  time's  dark  events, 

Charging  like  ceaseless  clouds  across  the  sky. 


But  sing,  poet,  in  our  name  ; 

Sing  of  the  love  we  bore  him  —  because  you,  dweller  in  camps, 
know  it  truly. 

As  they  invault  the  coffin  there, 

Sing  —  as  they  close  the  doors  of  earth  upon  him  —  one  verse, 

For  the  heavy  hearts  of  soldiers. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  5/7 

TO  THE  MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD 

Thou  who  hast  slept  all  night  upon  the  storm, 
Waking  renew'd  on  thy  prodigious  pinions, 
(Burst  the  wild  storm  ?  above  it  thou  ascended'st, 
And  rested  on  the  sky,  thy  slave  that  cradled  thee) 
Now  a  blue  point,  far,  far  in  heaven  floating, 
As  to  the  light  emerging  here  on  deck  I  watch  thee, 
(Myself  a  speck,  a  point  on  the  world's  floating  vast.) 

Far,  far  at  sea, 

After  the  night's  fierce  drifts  have  strewn  the  shore  with  wrecks, 

With  re-appearing  day  as  now  so  happy  and  serene, 

The  rosy  and  elastic  dawn,  the  flashing  sun, 

The  limpid  spread  of  air  cerulean, 

Thou  also  re-appearest. 

Thou  born  to  match  the  gale,  (thou  art  all  wings) 

To  cope  with  heaven  and  earth  and  sea  and  hurricane, 

Thou  ship  of  air  that  never  furl'st  thy  sails, 

Days,  even  weeks  untired  and  onward,  through   spaces,  realms 

gyrating, 

At  dusk  that  look'st  on  Senegal,  at  morn  America, 
That  sport'st  amid  the  lightning-flash  and  thunder-cloud, 
In  them,  in  thy  experiences,  had'st  thou  my  soul, 
W^hat  joys  !  what  joys  were  thine  ! 


COME  UP  FROM  THE  FIELDS,  FATHER 

Come  up  from  the  fields,  father,  here  's  a  letter  from  our  Pete ; 
And  come  to  the  front  door,  mother  —  here  's  a  letter  from  thy 
dear  son. 

Lo,  't  is  autumn, 

Lo,  where  the  trees,  deeper  green,  yellower  and  redder, 
Cool  and  sweeten  Ohio's  villages  with   leaves  fluttering  in  the 
moderate  wind ; 


5/8        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Where  apples  ripe   in   the  orchards    hang   and   grapes   on   the 

trellised  vines ; 

(Smell  you  the  smell  of  the  grapes  on  the  vines  ? 
Smell  you  the  buckwheat  where  the  bees  were  lately  buzzing  ?) 
Above  all,  lo,  the  sky  so  calm,  so  transparent  after  the  rain,  and 

with  wondrous  clouds, 
Below,  too,  all  calm,  all  vital  and  beautiful,  and  the  farm  prospers  well. 

Down  in  the  fields  all  prospers  well ; 

But  now  from  the  fields  come,  father,  come  at  the  daughter's  call  ; 

And  come  to  the  entry,  mother,  to  the  front  door  come  right  away 

Fast  as  she  can  she  hurries,  something  ominous,  her  steps  trembling ; 
She  does  not  tarry  to  smooth  her  hair  nor  adjust  her  cap. 

Open  the  envelope  quickly  ; 

O  this  is  not  our  son's  writing,  yet  his  name  is  sign'd ; 

O  a  strange  hand  writes  for  our  dear  son,  O  stricken  mother's  soul ! 

All  swims  before  her  eyes,  flashes  with  black,  she  catches  the 

main  words  only ; 
Sentences  broken,  gunshot  wound  in  the  breast,  cavalry  skirmish, 

taken  to  hospital, 
At  present  low, but  will  soon  be  better. 

Ah,  now,  the  single  figure  to  me, 

Amid  all  teeming  and  wealthy  Ohio  with  all  its  cities  and  farms, 

Sickly  white  in  the  face  and  dull  in  the  head,  very  faint, 

By  the  jamb  of  a  door  leans. 

Grieve  not  so,   dear  mother    (the    just-grown    daughter    speaks 

through  her  sobs ; 

The  little  sisters  huddle  around,  speechless  and  dismay 'd ;) 
See,  dearest  mother,  the  letter  says  Pete  will  soon  be  better. 

Alas,  poor  boy,  he  will  never  be  better  (nor  may-be  needs  to  be 

better,  that  brave  and  simple  soul ;) 

While  they  stand  at  home  at  the  door,  he  is  dead  already ; 
The  only  son  is  dead. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  579 

But  the  mother  needs  to  be  better ; 

She  with  thin  form  presently  dressed  in  black ; 

By  day  her  meals  untouch'd,  then  at  night  fitfully  sleeping,  often 

waking, 

In  the  midnight  waking,  weeping,  longing  with  one  deep  longing, 
O  that  she  might  withdraw  unnoticed,  silent  from  life  escape  and 

withdraw, 
To  follow,  to  seek,  to  be  with  her  dear  dead  son. 


BAREST  THOU  NOW,  O  SOUL 

Barest  thou  now,  O  Soul, 

Walk  out  with  me  toward  the  Unknown  Region, 

Where  neither  ground  is  for  the  feet,  nor  any  path  to  follow  ? 

No  map  there,  nor  guide, 

Nor  voice  sounding,  nor  touch  of  human  hand, 

Nor  face  with  blooming  flesh,  nor  lips,  nor  eyes,  are  in  that  land. 

I  know  it  not,  O  Soul ! 

Nor  dost  thou,  all  is  a  blank  before  us ; 

All  waits  undreamed  of  in  that  region,  that  inaccessible  land. 

Till,  when  the  ties  loosen, 

All  but  the  ties  eternal,  Time  and  Space, 

Nor  darkness,  gravitation,  sense,  nor  any  bounds  bound  us. 

Then  we  burst  forth,  we  float, 
In  Time  and  Space,  O  Soul !  prepared  for  them, 
Equal,  equipped  at  last,  (O  joy !  O  fruit  of  all !)  them  to  fulfil, 
O  Soul ! 


580        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOOR-YARD  BLOOM'D 
SELECTIONS 


When  lilacs  last  in  the  door-yard  bloom 'd, 

And  the  great  star  early  droop'd  in  the  western  sky  in  the  night, 

I  mourn'd  —  and  yet  shall  mourn  with  ever-returning  spring. 

O  ever-returning  spring  !  trinity  sure  to  me  you  bring ; 
Lilac  blooming  perennial,  and  drooping  star  in  the  west, 
And  thought  of  him  I  love. 


O  powerful,  western,  fallen  star ! 

O  shades  of  night !    O  moody,  tearful  night ! 

O  great  star  disappear'd  !    O  the  black  murk  that  hides  the  star ! 

O  cruel  hands  that  hold  me  powerless  !    O  helpless  soul  of  me ! 

O  harsh  surrounding  cloud,  that  will  not  free  my  soul ! 

in 

In   the   door-yard    fronting   an   old  farmhouse,   near  the  white- 

wash'd  palings, 
Stands  the  lilac  bush,  tall-growing,  with  heart-shaped  leaves  of 

rich  green, 
With  many  a  pointed  blossom,  rising,  delicate,  with  the  perfume 

strong  I  love, 

With  every  leaf  a  miracle  .  .  .  and  from  this  bush  in  the  door-yard, 
With  delicate-color'd   blossoms,  and  heart-shaped  leaves  of  rich 

green, 
A  sprig,  with  its  flower,  I  break. 

IV 

In  the  swamp,  in  secluded  recesses, 

A  shy  and  hidden  bird  is  warbling  a  song. 

Solitary,  the  thrush, 

The  hermit,  withdrawn  to  himself,  avoiding  the  settlements, 

Sings  by  himself  a  song. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  581 

Song  of  the  bleeding  throat ! 

Death's  outlet  song  of  life  —  (for  well,  dear  brother,  I  know, 

If  thou  wast  not  gifted  to  sing,  thou  would'st  surely  die.) 


Over  the  breast  of  the  spring,  the  land,  amid  cities, 

Amid  lanes,  and  through  old  woods,  (where  lately  the  violets  peep'd 

from  the  ground,  spotting  the  gray  debris  ;) 
Amid  the  grass  in  the  fields  each  side  of  the  lanes  —  passing  the 

endless  grass ; 
Passing  the  yellow-speared  wheat,  every  grain  from  its  shroud  in 

the  dark-brown  fields  uprising  ; 

Passing  the  apple-tree  blows  of  white  and  pink  in  the  orchards ; 
Carrying  a  corpse  to  where  it  shall  rest  in  the  grave, 
Night  and  day  journeys  a  coffin. 

VI 

Coffin  that  passes  through  lanes  and  streets, 

Through  day  and  night  with  the  great  cloud  darkening  the  land, 

With  the  pomp  of  the  in-looped  flags,  with  the  cities  draped  in 

black, 
With  the  show  of  the  States  themselves  as  of  crape-veil'd  women 

standing, 

With  processions  long  and  winding  and  the  flambeaus  of  the  night, 
With  the  countless  torches  lit,  with  the  silent  sea  of  faces  and  the 

unbared  heads, 

With  the  waiting  depot,  the  arriving  coffin,  and  the  sombre  faces, 
With  dirges  through  the  night,  with  the  thousand  voices  rising 

strong  and  solemn ; 
With  all  the  mournful  voices  of  the  dirges  pour'd  around  the 

coffin, 
The  dim-lit  churches  and  the  shuddering  organs  —  where  amid 

these  you  journey, 

With  the  tolling,  tolling  bells'  perpetual  clang, 
Here,  coffin  that  slowly  passes, 
I  give  you  my  sprig  of  lilac. 


582        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

IX 

Sing  on,  there  in  the  swamp ! 

0  singer  bashful  and  tender,  I  hear  your  notes,  I  hear  your  call, 

1  hear,  I  come  presently,  I  understand  you, 

But  a  moment  I  linger,  for  the  lustrous  star  has  detained  me ; 
The  star  my  departing  comrade  holds  and  detains  me. 


0  how  shall  I  warble  myself  for  the  dead  one  there  I  loved  ? 
And  how  shall  I  deck  my  soul  for  the  large  sweet  soul  that  has  gone  ? 
And  what  shall  my  perfume  be  for  the  grave  of  him  I  love  ? 

Sea-winds  blown  from  east  and  west, 

Blown  from  the  Eastern  sea  and  blown  from  the  Western  sea,  till 

there  on  the  prairies  meeting, 
These,  and  with  these,  and  the  breath  of  my  chant, 

1  perfume  the  grave  of  him  I  love. 

XIII 

Sing  on  !  sing  on,  you  gray-brown  bird  ! 

Sing  from  the  swamps,  the  recesses  —  pour  your  chant  from  the 

bushes ; 
Limitless  out  of  the  dusk,  out  of  the  cedars  and  pines. 

Sing  on,  dearest  brother  —  warble  your  reedy  song  ; 
Loud  human  song,  with  voice  of  uttermost  woe. 

O  liquid,  and  free,  and  tender ! 

O  wild  and  loose  to  my  soul !    O  wondrous  Linger  ! 

You  only  I  hear  ...  yet  the  star  holds  me,  (but  will  soon  depart') 

Yet  the  lilac,  with  mastering  odor,  holds  me. 

XVII 

To  the  tally  of  my  soul, 

Loud  and  strong  kept  up  the  gray-brown  bird 

With  pure,  deliberate  notes,  spreading,  filling  the  night. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD 

Loud  in  the  pines  and  cedars  dim, 

Clear  in  the  freshness  moist  and  the  swamp-perfume  ; 

And  I  with  my  comrades  there  in  the  night. 

While  my  sight  that  was  bound  in  my  eyes  unclosed, 
As  to  long  panoramas  of  visions. 


XVIII 

I  saw  askant  the  armies  ; 

I  saw  as  in  noiseless  dreams  hundreds  of  battle-flags, 

Borne  through  the  smoke  of  the  battles  and  pierced  with  missiles, 

I  saw  them, 
And  carried  hither  and  yon  through  the  smoke,  and  torn  and 

bloody  ; 

And  at  last  but  a  few  shreds  left  on  the  staffs  (and  all  in  silence,) 
And  the  staffs  all  splintered  and  broken. 

I  saw  battle-corpses,  myriads  of  them, 

And  the  white  skeletons  of  young  men,  I  saw  them  ; 

I  saw  the  debris  and  debris  of  all  the  dead  soldiers  of  the  war. 

But  I  saw  they  were  not  as  was  thought, 

They  themselves  were  fully  at  rest,  they  suffer'd  not  ; 

The  living  remain'd  and  suffer'd,  the  mother  suffer'd, 

And  the  wife  and  the  child,  and  the  musing  comrade  suffer'd, 

And  the  armies  that  remained  suffer'd. 


XIX 

Passing  the  visions,  passing  the  night ; 

Passing,  unloosing  the  hold  of  my  comrades'  hands ; 

Passing  the  song  of  the  hermit  bird  and  the  tallying  song  of  my 

soul, 

Victorious  song,  death's  outlet  song,  yet  varying  ever-altering  song, 
As  low  and  wailing,  yet  clear  the  notes,  rising  and  falling,  flooding 

the  night, 
Sadly  sinking  and  fainting,  as  warning  and  warning,  and  yet  again 

bursting  with  joy, 


584        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Covering  the  earth  and  filling  the  spread  of  the  heaven, 

As  that  powerful  psalm  in  the  night  I  heard  from  recesses, 

Passing,  I  leave  thee  lilac  with  heart-shaped  leaves, 

I  leave  thee  there  in  the  door-yard,  blooming,  returning  with  spring. 

I  cease  from  my  song  for  thee, 

From  my  gaze  on  thee  in  the  west,  fronting  the  west,  communing 

with  thee, 
O  comrade  lustrous  with  silver  face  in  the  night. 


xx 

Yet  each  I  keep  and  all,  retrievements  out  of  the  night ; 

The  song,  the  wondrous  chant  of  the  gray-brown  bird, 

And  the  tallying  chant,  the  echo  arous'd  in  my  soul, 

With  the  lustrous  and  drooping  star,  with  the  countenance  full 

of  woe, 

With  the  lilac  tall,  and  its  blossoms  of  mastering  odor ; 
With  the  holders  holding  my  hand,  nearing  the  call  of  the  bird, 
Comrades  mine,  and  I  in  the  midst,  and  their  memory  ever  I 

keep  —  for  the  dead  I  loved  so  well ; 
For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my  days  and  lands  .  .  .  and 

this  for  his  dear  sake ; 

Lilac  and  star  and  bird,  twined  with  the  chant  of  my  soul, 
There  in  the  fragrant  pines,  and  the  cedars  dusk  and  dim. 


SIDNEY  LANIER 

[Born  at  Macon,  Georgia,  February  3,  1842;  died  at  Lynn,  North  Carolina, 
September  7,  1881] 

SONG  OF  THE  CHATTAHOOCHEE 

Out  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Down  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
I  hurry  amain  to  reach  the  plain, 
Run  the  rapid  and  leap  the  fall, 
Split  at  the  rock  and  together  again, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  585 

Accept  my  bed,  or  narrow  or  wide, 
And  flee  from  folly  on  every  side 
With  a  lover's  pain  to  attain  the  plain 

Far  from  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Far  from  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

All  down  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

All  through  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  rushes  cried  Abide,  abide, 
The  wilful  waterweeds  held  me  thrall, 
The  laving  laurel  turned  my  tide, 
The  ferns  and  the  fondling  grass  said  Stay, 
The  dewberry  dipped  for  to  work  delay, 
And  the  little  reeds  sighed  Abide,  abide, 

Here  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Here  in  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

High  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Veiling  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  hickory  told  me  manifold 
Fair  tales  of  shade,  the  poplar  tall 
Wrought  me  her  shadowy  self  to  hold, 
The  chestnut,  the  oak,  the  walnut,  the  pine, 
Overleaning,  with  flickering  meaning  and  sign, 
Said,  Pass  not,  so  cold,  these  manifold 

Deep  shades  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

These  glades  in  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

And  oft  in  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

And  oft  in  the  valleys  of  Hall, 
The  white  quartz  shone,  and  the  smooth  brook-stone 
Did  bar  me  of  passage  with  friendly  brawl, 
And  many  a  luminous  jewel  lone 
—  Crystals  clear  or  a-cloud  with  mist, 
Ruby,  garnet,  and  amethyst  — 
Made  lures  with  the  lights  of  streaming  stone 

In  the  clefts  of  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

In  the  beds  of  the  valleys  of  Hall. 


586        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

But  oh,  not  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

And  oh,  not  the  valleys  of  Hall 
Avail :  I  am  fain  for  to  water  the  plain. 
Downward  the  voices  of  Duty  call  — 
Downward,  to  toil  and  be  mixed  with  the  main, 
The  dry  fields  burn,  and  the  mills  are  to  turn, 
And  a  myriad  flowers  mortally  yearn, 
And  the  lordly  main  from  beyond  the  plain 

Calls  o'er  the  hills  of  Habersham, 

Calls  through  the  valleys  of  Hall. 

A  BALLAD  OF  TREES  AND  THE  MASTER 

Into  the  woods  my  Master  went, 

Clean  forspent,  forspent. 

Into  the  woods  my  Master  came, 

Forspent  with  love  and  shame. 

But  the  olives  they  were  not  blind  to  Him ; 

The  little  gray  leaves  were  kind  to  Him ; 

The  thorn-tree  had  a  mind  to  Him 

When  into  the  woods  He  came. 

Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  went, 

And  He  was  well  content. 

Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  came, 

Content  with  death  and  shame. 

When  Death  and  Shame  would  woo  Him  last, 

From  under  the  trees  they  drew  Him  last : 

'T  was  on  a  tree  they  slew  Him  —  last ; 

When  out  of  the  woods  He  came. 

THE  MARSHES  OF  GLYNN 

Glooms  of  the  live-oaks,  beautiful-braided  and  woven 
With  intricate  shades  of  the  vines  that  myriad-cloven 
Clamber  the  forks  of  the  multiform  boughs,  — 

Emerald  twilights,  — 

Virginal  shy  lights, 
Wrought  of  the  leaves  to  allure  to  the  whisper  of  vows, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  587 

When  lovers  pace  timidly  down  through  the  green  colonnades 

Of  the  dim  sweet  woods,  of  the  dear  dark  woods, 

Of  the  heavenly  woods  and  glades, 

That  run  to  the  radiant  marginal  sand-beach  within 

The  wide  sea-marshes  of  Glynn  ;  — 

Beautiful  glooms,  soft  dusks  in  the  noon-day  fire,  - 

Wildwood  privacies,  closets  of  lone  desire, 

Chamber  from  chamber  parted  with  wavering  arras  of  leaves,  — 

Cells  for  the  passionate  pleasure  of  prayer  to  the  soul  that  grieves, 

Pure  with  a  sense  of  the  passing  of  saints  through  the  wood, 

Cool  for  the  dutiful  weighing  of  ill  with  good ;  — 

O  braided  dusks  of  the  oak  and  woven  shades  of  the  vine, 

While  the  riotous  noon-day  sun  of  the  June-day  long  did  shine 

Ye  held  me  fast  in  your  heart  and  I  held  you  fast  in  mine ; 

But  now  when  the  noon  is  no  more,  and  riot  is  rest, 

And  the  sun  is  a-wait  at  the  ponderous  gate  of  the  West, 

And  the  slant  yellow  beam  down  the  wood-aisle  doth  seem 

Like  a  lane  into  heaven  that  leads  from  a  dream,  — 

Ay,  now,  when  my  soul  all  day  hath  drunken  the  soul  of  the  oak, 

And  my  heart  is  at  ease  from  men,  and  the  wearisome  sound  of 

the  stroke 

Of  the  scythe  of  time  and  the  trowel  of  trade  is  low, 
And  belief  overmasters  doubt,  and  I  know  that  I  know, 
And  my  spirit  is  grown  to  a  lordly  great  compass  within, 
That  the  length  and  the  breadth  and  the  sweep  of  the  marshes 

of  Glynn 

Will  work  me  no  fear  like  the  fear  they  have  wrought  me  of  yore 
When  length  was  fatigue,  and  when  breadth  was  but  bitterness 

sore, 

And  when  terror  and  shrinking  and  dreary  unnamable  pain 
Drew  over  me  out  of  the  merciless  miles  of  the  plain,  — 
Oh,  now,  unafraid,  I  am  fain  to  face 
The  vast  sweet  visage  of  space. 
To  the  edge  of  the  wood  I  am  drawn,  I  am  drawn, 
Where  the  gray  beach  glimmering  runs,  as  a  belt  of  the  dawn, 
For  a  mete  and  a  mark 
To  the  forest-dark  :  — 


588        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

So: 

Affable  live-oak,  leaning  low,  - 

Thus  —  with  your  favor  —  soft,  with  a  reverent  hand, 
(Not  lightly  touching  your  person,  Lord  of  the  land !) 
Bending  your  beauty  aside,  with  a  step  I  stand 
On  the  firm-packed  sand, 

Free 

By  a  world  of  marsh  that  borders  a  world  of  sea. 
Sinuous  southward  and  sinuous  northward  the  shimmering  band 
Of  the  sand-beach  fastens  the  fringe  of  the  marsh  to  the  folds  of 

the  land. 
Inward  and  outward  to  northward  and  southward  the  beach-lines 

linger  and  curl 
As  a  silver-wrought  garment  that  clings  to  and  follows  the  firm 

sweet  limbs  of  a  girl. 

Vanishing,  swerving,  evermore  curving  again  into  sight, 
Softly  the  sand-beach  wavers  away  to  a  dim  gray  looping  of  light. 
And  what  if  behind  me  to  westward  the  wall  of  the  woods  stands 

high  ? 
The  world  lies  east :  how  ample,  the  marsh  and  the  sea  and  the 

sky! 

A  league  and  a  league  of  marsh-grass,  waist-high  broad  in  the  blade, 
Green,  and  all  of  a  height,  and  unflecked  with  a  light  or  a  shade, 
Stretch  leisurely  off,  in  a  pleasant  plain, 
To  the  terminal  blue  of  the  main. 

Oh,  what  is  abroad  in  the  marsh  and  the  terminal  sea  ? 
Somehow  my  soul  seems  suddenly  free 
From  the  weighing  of  fate  and  the  sad  discussion  of  sin, 
By  the  length  and  the  breadth  and  the  sweep  of  the  marshes  of 
Glynn. 

Ye  marshes,  how  candid  and  simple  and  nothing-withholding  and 

free 

Ye  publish  yourselves  to  the  sky  and  offer  yourselves  to  the  sea ! 
Tolerant  plains,  that  suffer  the  sea  and  the  rains  and  the  sun, 
Ye  spread  and  span  like  the  catholic  man  who  hath  mightily  won 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  589 

God  out  of  knowledge  and  good  out  of  infinite  pain 
And  sight  out  of  blindness  and  purity  out  of  a  stain. 

As  the  marsh-hen  secretly  builds  on  the  watery  sod, 

Behold  I  will  build  me  a  nest  on  the  greatness  of  God : 

I  will  fly  in  the  greatness  of  God  as  the  marsh-hen  flies 

In  the  freedom  that  fills  all  the  space  'twixt  the  marsh  and  the 

skies : 

By  so  many  roots  as  the  marsh-grass  sends  in  the  sod 
I  will  heartily  lay  me  a-hold  on  the  greatness  of  God  : 
Oh,  like  to  the  greatness  of  God  is  the  greatness  within 
The  range  of  the  marshes,  the  liberal  marshes  of  Glynn. 

And  the  sea  lends  large,  as  the  marsh  :    lo,  out  of  his  plenty 

the  sea 

Pours  fast :  full  soon  the  time  of  the  flood-tide  must  be  : 
Look  how  the  grace  of  the  sea  doth  go 
About  and  about  through  the  intricate  channels  that  flow 
Here  and  there, 

Everywhere, 
Till  his  waters  have  flooded  the  uttermost  creeks  and  the  low-lying 

lanes, 

And  the  marsh  is  meshed  with  a  million  veins, 
That  like  as  with  rosy  and  silvery  essences  flow 
In  the  rose-and-silver  evening  glow. 

Farewell,  my  lord  Sun  ! 

The  creeks  overflow  :  a  thousand  rivulets  run 
Twixt  the  roots  of  the  sod ;  the  blades  of  the  marsh-grass  stir ; 
Passeth  a  hurrying  sound  of  wings  that  westward  whirr ; 
Passeth,  and  all  is  still ;  and  the  currents  cease  to  run ; 
And  the  sea  and  the  marsh  are  one. 

How  still  the  plains  of  the  waters  be ! 
The  tide  is  in  his  ecstasy. 
The  tide  is  at  his  highest  height  : 
And  it  is  night. 


590        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

And  now  from  the  Vast  of  the  Lord  will  the  waters  of  sleep 

Roll  in  on  the  souls  of  men, 

But  who  will  reveal  to  our  waking  ken 

The  forms  that  swim  and  the  shapes  that  creep 

Under  the  waters  of  sleep  ? 
And  I  would  I  could  know  what  swimmeth  below  when  the  tide 

comes  in 
On  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  marvelous  marshes  of  Glynn, 


THE  LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD 
MINOR  WRITERS 

BAYARD  TAYLOR 

[Born  at  Kennett  Square,  Chester  County,  Pennsylvania,  January  11,  1825; 
died  at  Berlin,  December  19,  1878] 

BEDOUIN   SONG 

From  the  Desert  I  come  to  thee 

On  a  stallion  shod  with  fire ; 
And  the  winds  are  left  behind 

In  the  speed  of  my  desire. 
Under  thy  window  I  stand, 

And  the  midnight  hears  my  cry : 
I  love  thee,  I  love  but  thee, 
With  a  love  that  shall  not  die 
Till  the  sun  grows  cold, 
And  the  stars  are  old, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  Jiidgment 
Book  unfold  ! 

Look  from  thy  window  and  see 

My  passion  and  my  pain  ; 
I  lie  on  the  sands  below, 

And  I  faint  in  thy  disdain. 
Let  the  night-winds  touch  thy  brow 

With  the  heat  of  my  burning  sigh, 
And  melt  thee  to  hear  the  vow 
Of  a  love  that  shall  not  die 
Till  the  szm  groivs  cold, 
And  the  stars  are  old, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  Jiidgment 
Book  unfold  ! 


592         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

My  steps  are  nightly  driven, 
By  the  fever  in  my  breast, 
To  hear  from  thy  lattice  breathed 

The  word  that  shall  give  me  rest. 
Open  the  door  of  thy  heart, 

And  open  thy  chamber  door, 
And  my  kisses  shall  teach  thy  lips 
The  love  that  shall  fade  no  more 
Till  the  sun  grows  cold, 
And  tJie  stars  are  old, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  Judgment 

Book  unfold  ! 
\ 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  CAMP 

"  Give  us  a  song  !  "  the  soldiers  cried, 
The  outer  trenches  guarding, 

When  the  heated  guns  of  the  camps  allied 
Grew  weary  of  bombarding. 

The  dark  Redan,  in  silent  scoff, 
Lay,  grim  and  threatening,  under ; 

And  the  tawny  mound  of  the  Malakoff 
No  longer  belched  its  thunder. 

There  was  a  pause.    A  guardsman  said 
"  We  storm  the  forts  to-morrow  ; 

Sing  while  we  may,  another  day 
Will  bring  enough  of  sorrow." 

They  lay  along  the  battery's  side, 

Below  the  smoking  cannon  : 
Brave  hearts,  from  Severn  and  from  Clyde, 

And  from  the  banks  of  Shannon. 

They  sang  of  love,  and  not  of  fame ; 

Forgot  was  Britain's  glory  : 
Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name, 

But  all  sang  "  Annie  Laurie." 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS       593 

Voice  after  voice  caught  up  the  song, 

Until  its  tender  passion 
Rose  like  an  anthem,  rich  and  strong,  — 

Their  battle-eve  confession. 

Dear  girl,  her  name  he  dared  not  speak, 

But,  as  the  song  grew  louder, 
Something  upon  the  soldier's  cheek 

Washed  off  the  stains  of  powder. 

Beyond  the  darkening  ocean  burned 

The  bloody  sunset's  embers, 
While  the  Crimean  valleys  learned 

How  English  love  remembers. 

And  once  again  a  fire  of  hell 

Rained  on  the  Russian  quarters, 
With  scream  of  shot,  and  burst  of  shell. 

And  bellowing  of  the  mortars  ! 

And  Irish  Nora's  eyes  are  dim 

For  a  singer,  dumb  and  gory  ; 
And  English  Mary  mourns  for  him 

Who  sang  of  "  Annie  Laurie." 

Sleep,  soldiers  !  still  in  honored  rest 

Your  truth  and  valor  wearing  : 
The  bravest  are  the  tenderest,  — 

The  loving  are  the  daring. 


AMERICA 
FROM  THE  NATIONAL  ODE,  JULY  4,  1876 

Foreseen  in  the  vision  of  sages, 
Foretold  when  martyrs  bled, 

She  was  born  of  the  longing  of  ages, 
By  the  truth  of  the  noble  dead 
And  the  faith  of  the  living  fed ! 


594        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

No  blood  in  her  lightest  veins 
Frets  at  remembered  chains, 
Nor  shame  of  bondage  has  bowed  her  head. 
In  her  form  and  features  still 
The  unblenching  Puritan  will, 
Cavalier  honor,  Huguenot  grace, 
The  Quaker  truth  and  sweetness, 
And  the  strength  of  the  danger-girdled  race 
Of  Holland,  blend  in  a  proud  completeness. 
From  the  homes  of  all,  where  her  being  began, 
She  took  what  she  gave  to  Man  ; 
Justice,  that  knew  no  station, 
Belief,  as  soul  decreed, 
Free  air  for  aspiration, 
Free  force  for  independent  deed ! 

She  takes,  but  to  give  again, 
As  the  sea  returns  the  rivers  in  rain ; 
And  gathers  the  chosen  of  her  seed 
From  the  hunted  of  every  crown  and  creed. 
Her  Germany  dwells  by  a  gentler  Rhine ; 
Her  Ireland  sees  the  old  sunburst  shine ; 
Her  France  pursues  some  stream  divine ; 
Her  Norway  keeps  his  mountain  pine ; 
Her  Italy  waits  by  the  western  brine ; 

And,  broad-based  under  all, 
Is  planted  England's  oaken-hearted  mood, 

As  rich  in  fortitude 
As  e'er  went  worldward  from  the  island-wall ! 

Fused  in  her  candid  light, 
To  one  strong  race  all  races  here  unite ; 
Tongues  melt  in  hers,  hereditary  foemen 
Forget  their  sword  and  slogan,  kith  and  clan. 

'T  was  glory,  once,  to  be  a  Roman  : 
She  makes  it  glory,  now,  to  be  a  man ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS       595 


HENRY  TIMROD 

[Born  at  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  December  8,  1829;   died  at  Columbia, 
South  Carolina,  October  6,  1867] 

SPRING 

Spring,  with  that  nameless  pathos  in  the  air 

Which  dwells  with  all  things  fair, 
Spring,  with  her  golden  suns  and  silver  rain, 

Is  with  us  once  again. 


Out  in  the  lonely  woods  the  jasmine  burns 

Its  fragrant  lamps,  and  turns 
Into  a  royal  court  with  green  festoons 

The  banks  of  dark  lagoons. 

In  the  deep  heart  of  every  forest  tree 

The  blood  is  all  aglee, 
And  there  's  a  look  about  the  leafless  bowers 

As  if  they  dreamed  of  flowers. 

Yet  still  on  every  side  we  trace  the  hand 

Of  Winter  in  the  land, 
Save  where  the  maple  reddens  on  the  lawn, 

Flushed  by  the  season's  dawn. 

Or  where,  like  those  strange  semblances  we  find 

That  age  to  childhood  bind, 
The  elm  puts  on,  as  if  in  Nature's  scorn, 

The  brown  of  Autumn  corn. 

As  yet  the  turf  is  dark,  although  you  know 

That  not  a  span  below, 
A  thousand  germs  are  groping  through  the  gloom, 

And  soon  will  burst  their  tomb. 


READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Already,  here  and  there,  on  frailest  stems 

Appear  some  azure  gems, 
Small  as  might  deck,  upon  a  gala  day, 

The  forehead  of  a  fay. 

In  gardens  you  may  note  amid  the  dearth 

The  crocus  breaking  earth  ; 
And  near  the  snowdrop's  tender  white  and  green, 

The  violet  in  its  screen. 

But  many  gleams  and  shadows  need  must  pass 

Along  the  budding  grass, 
And  weeks  go  by,  before  the  enamored  South 

Shall  kiss  the  rose's  mouth. 

Still  there  's  a  sense  of  blossoms  yet  unborn 

In  the  sweet  airs  of  morn  ; 
One  almost  looks  to  see  the  very  street 

Grow  purple  at  his  feet. 

At  times  a  fragrant  breeze  comes  floating  by, 

And  brings,  you  know  not  why, 
A  feeling  as  when  eager  crowds  await 

Before  a  palace  gate 

Some  wondrous  pageant ;  and  you  scarce  would  start; 

If  from  a  beech's  heart, 
A  blue-eyed  Dryad,  stepping  forth,  should  say, 

11  Behold  me  !   I  am  May  !  " 

Ah  !  who  would  couple  thoughts  of  war  and  crime 

With  such  a  blessed  time  ! 
Who  in  the  west  wind's  aromatic  breath 

Could  hear  the  call  of  Death  ! 

Yet  not  more  surely  shall  the  Spring  awake 

The  voice  of  wood  and  brake, 
Than  she  shall  rouse,  for  all  her  tranquil  charms, 

A  million  men  to  arms. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      597 

There  shall  be  deeper  hues  upon  her  plains 

Than  all  her  sunlit  rains, 
And  every  gladdening  influence  around, 

Can  summon  from  the  ground. 

Oh  !  standing  on  this  desecrated  mold, 

Methinks  that  I  behold, 
Lifting  her  bloody  daisies  up  to  God, 

Spring  kneeling  on  the  sod, 

And  calling,  with  the  voice  of  all  her  rills, 

Upon  the  ancient  hills 
To  fall  and  crush  the  tyrants  and  the  slaves 

Who  turn  her  meads  to  graves. 


AT  MAGNOLIA  CEMETERY 

Sleep  sweetly  in  your  humble  graves, 
Sleep,  martyrs  of  a  fallen  cause ; 

Though  yet  no  marble  column  craves 
The  pilgrim  here  to  pause. 

In  seed  of  laurel  in  the  earth 

The  blossom  of  your  fame  is  blown, 

And  somewhere,  waiting  for  its  birth, 
The  shaft  is  in  the  stone ! 

Meanwhile,  behalf  the  tardy  years 

Which  keep  in  trust  your  storied  tombs, 

Behold  !  your  sisters  bring  their  tears, 
And  these  memorial  blooms. 

Small  tributes  !  but  your  shades  will  smile 
More  proudly  on  these  wreaths  to-day, 

Than  when  some  cannon-molded  pile 
Shall  overlook  this  bay. 


598        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Stoop,  angels,  hither  from  the  skies ! 

There  is  no  holier  spot  of  ground 
Than  where  defeated  valor  lies, 

By  mourning  beauty  crowned. 

PAUL  HAMILTON   HAYNE 

[Born  at  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  January  i,  1831  ;  died  July  6,  1886] 
ASPECTS   OF  THE   PINES 

Tall,  somber,  grim,  against  the  morning  sky 
They  rise,  scarce  touched  by  melancholy  airs, 

Which  stir  the  fadeless  foliage  dreamfully, 
As  if  from  realms  of  mystical  despairs. 

Tall,  somber,  grim,  they  stand  with  dusky  gleams 
Brightening  to  gold  within  the  woodland's  core, 

Beneath  the  gracious  noontide's  tranquil  beams  — 
But  the  weird  winds  of  morning  sigh  no  more. 

A  stillness,  strange,  divine,  ineffable, 

Broods  round  and  o'er  them  in  the  wind's  surcease, 
And  on  each  tinted  copse  and  shimmering  dell 

Rests  the  mute  rapture  of  deep-hearted  peace. 

Last,  sunset  comes  —  the  solemn  joy  and  might 

Borne  from  the  west  when  cloudless  day  declines 

Low,  flutelike  breezes  sweep  the  waves  of  light, 
And  lifting  dark  green  tresses  of  the  pines, 

Till  every  lock  is  luminous  —  gently  float, 
Fraught  with  hale  odors  up  the  heavens  afar 

To  faint  when  twilight  on  her  virginal  throat 
Wears  for  a  gem  the  tremulous  vesper  star. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS       599 

A  LITTLE  WHILE  I  FAIN  WOULD  LINGER  YET 

A  little  while  (my  life  is  almost  set !) 

I  fain  would  pause  along  the  downward  way, 
Musing  an  hour  in  this  sad  sunset  ray, 

While,  Sweet !  our  eyes  with  tender  tears  are  wet : 

A  little  hour  I  fain  would  linger  yet. 

A  little  while  I  fain  would  linger  yet, 

All  for  love's  sake,  for  love  that  cannot  tire  ; 
Though  fervid  youth  be  dead,  with  youth's  desire, 

And  hope  has  faded  to  a  vague  regret, 

A  little  while  I  fain  would  linger  yet. 

A  little  while  I  fain  would  linger  here : 

Behold  !  who  knows  what  strange,  mysterious  bars 
Twixt  souls  that  love  may  rise  in  other  stars  ? 

Nor  can  love  deem  the  face  of  death  is  fair : 

A  little  while  I  still  would  linger  here. 

A  little  while  I  yearn  to  hold  thee  fast, 

Hand  locked  in  hand,  and  loyal  heart  to  heart ; 

(O  pitying  Christ !  those  woeful  words,  "  We  part !  ") 

So  ere  the  darkness  fall,  the  light  be  past, 

A  little  while  I  fain  would  hold  thee  fast. 

A  little  while,  when  light  and  twilight  meet,  - 
Behind,  our  broken  years  ;  before,  the  deep 
Weird  wonder  of  the  last  unfathomed  sleep,  — 

A  little  while  I  still  would  clasp  thee,  Sweet, 

A  little  while,  when  night  and  twilight  meet. 

A  little  while  I  fain  would  linger  here ; 

Behold  !  who  knows  what  soul-dividing  bars 
Earth's  faithful  loves  may  part  in  other  stars  ? 

Nor  can  love  deem  the  face  of  death  is  fair : 

A  little  while  I  still  would  linger  here. 


600        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

A  STORM  IN  THE  DISTANCE 

I  see  the  cloud-born  squadrons  of  the  gale, 

Their  lines  of  rain  like  glittering  spears  deprest, 

While  all  the  affrighted  land  grows  darkly  pale 
In  flashing  charge  on  earth's  half-shielded  breast. 

Sounds  like  the  rush  of  trampling  columns  float 
From  that  fierce  conflict ;  volleyed  thunders  peal, 

Blent  with  the  maddened  wind's  wild  bugle-note ; 
The  lightnings  flash,  the  solid  woodlands  reel ! 

Ha !  many  a  foliaged  guardian  of  the  height, 
Majestic  pine  or  chestnut,  riven  and  bare, 

Falls  in  the  rage  of  that  aerial  fight, 

Led  by  the  Prince  of  all  the  Powers  of  air ! 

Vast  boughs  like  shattered  banners  hurtling  fly 
Down  the  thick  tumult :  while,  like  emerald  snow, 

Millions  of  orphaned  leaves  make  wild  the  sky, 
Or  drift  in  shuddering  helplessness  below. 

Still,  still,  the  levelled  lances  of  the  rain 

At  earth's  half-shielded  breast  take  glittering  aim  ; 

All  space  is  rife  with  fury,  racked  with  pain, 

Earth  bathed  in  vapor,  and  heaven  rent  by  flame ! 

At  last  the  cloud-battalions  through  long  rifts 
Of  luminous  mists  retire  :  —  the  strife  is  done, 

And  earth  once  more  her  wounded  beauty  lifts, 
To  meet  the  healing  kisses  of  the  sun. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      601 


FRANCIS  BRET  HARTE 

[Born  at  Albany,  New  York,  August  25,  1839;  died  at  Camberley, 
England,  May  5,  1902] 

GRIZZLY 

Coward,  —  of  heroic  size, 
In  whose  lazy  muscles  lies 
Strength  we  fear  and  yet  despise  ; 
Savage,  —  whose  relentless  tusks 
Are  content  with  acorn  husks  ; 
Robber,  —  whose  exploits  ne'er  soared 
O'er  the  bee's  or  squirrel's  hoard  ; 
Whiskered  chin,  and  feeble  nose, 
Claws  of  steel  on  baby  toes,  — 
Here,  in  solitude  and  shade, 
Shambling,  shuffling  plantigrade, 
Be  thy  courses  undismayed  ! 

Here,  where  Nature  makes  thy  bed, 
Let  thy  rude,  half-human  tread 

Point  to  hidden  Indian  springs, 
Lost  in  ferns  and  fragrant  grasses, 

Hovered  o'er  by  timid  wings, 
Where  the  wood-duck  lightly  passes, 
Where  the  wild  bee  holds  her  sweets, 
Epicurean  retreats, 
Fit  for  thee,  and  better  than 
Fearful  spoils  of  dangerous  man.. 
In  thy  fat-jowled  deviltry 
Friar  Tuck  shall  live  in  thee ; 
Thou  mayest  levy  tithe  and  dole ; 

Thou  shalt  spread  the  woodland  cheer, 
From  the  pilgrim  taking  toll ; 

Match  thy  cunning  with  his  fear ; 
Eat,  and  drink,  and  have  thy  fill ; 
Yet  remain  an  outlaw  still ! 


602        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

[Born  at  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  November  1 1,  1836;  died  at  Boston, 

March  19,  1907] 

WHEN  THE  SULTAN  GOES  TO  ISPAHAN 

When  the  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 
Goes  to  the  city  Ispahan, 
Even  before  he  gets  so  far 
As  the  place  where  the  clustered  palm-trees  are, 
At  the  last  of  the  thirty  palace-gates, 
The  flower  of  the  harem,  Rose-in-Bloom, 
Orders  a  feast  in  his  favorite  room  — 
Glittering  squares  of  colored  ice, 
Sweetened  with  syrup,  tinctured  with  spice, 
Creams,  and  cordials,  and  sugared  dates, 
Syrian  apples,  Othmanee  quinces, 
Limes,  and  citrons,  and  apricots, 
And  wines  that  are  known  to  Eastern  princes ; 
And  Nubian  slaves,  with  smoking  pots 
Of  spiced  meats  and  costliest  fish 
And  all  that  curious  palate  could  wish, 
Pass  in  and  out  of  the  cedarn  doors  ; 
Scattered  over  mosaic  floors 
Are  anemones,  myrtles,  and  violets, 
And  a  musical  fountain  throws  its  jets 
Of  a  hundred  colors  into  the  air. 
The  dusk  Sultana  loosens  her  hair, 
And  stairys  with  the  henna-plant  the  tips 
Of  her  pointed  nails,  and  bites  her  lips 
Till  they  bloom  again  ;  but  alas,  that  rose 
Not  for  the  Sultan  buds  and  blows, 
Not  for  the  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 
When  he  goes  to  the  city  Ispahan. 

Then  at  a  wave  of  her  sunny  hand 
The  dancing-girls  of  Samarcand 
Glide  in  like  shapes  from  fairy-land, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      603 

Making  a  sudden  mist  in  air 
Of  fleecy  veils  and  floating  hair 
And  white  arms  lifted.    Orient  blood 
Runs  in  their  veins,  shines  in  their  eyes. 
And  there,  in  this  Eastern  Paradise, 
Filled  with  the  breath  of  sandal-wood, 
And  Khoten  musk,  and  aloes  and  myrrh, 
Sits  Rose-in-Bloom  on  a  silk  divan, 
Sipping  the  wines  of  Astrakhan  ; 
And  her  Arab  lover  sits  with  her. 
That 's  when  the  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 
Goes  to  the  city  Ispahan. 

Now,  when  I  see  an  extra  light, 
Flaming,  flickering  on  the  night 
From  my  neighbor's  casement  opposite, 
I  know  as  well  as  I  know  to  pray, 
I  know  as  well  as  tongue  can  say, 
That  the  innocent  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 
Has  gone  to  the  city  Ispahan. 


CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 

[Born  at  Plainfield,  Massachusetts,  September  12,  1829;    died  in  Hartford, 
Connecticut,  October  20,  1900] 

CAMPING  OUT 

It  seems  to  be  agreed  that  civilization  is  kept  up  only  by  a  con 
stant  effort.  Nature  claims  its  own  speedily  when  the  effort  is 
relaxed.  If  you  clear  a  patch  of  fertile  ground  in  the  forest,  uproot 
the  stumps  and  plant  it,  year  after  year,  in  potatoes  and  maize,  you 
say  you  have  subdued  it.  But  if  you  leave  it  for  a  season  or  two, 
a  kind  of  barbarism  seems  to  steal  out  upon  it  from  the  circling 
woods ;  coarse  grass  and  brambles  cover  it ;  bushes  spring  up  in 
a  wild  tangle ;  the  raspberry  and  the  blackberry  flower  and  fruit, 
and  the  humorous  bear  feeds  upon  them.  The  last  state  of  the 
ground  is  worse  than  the  first. 


604        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

Perhaps  the  cleared  spot  is  called  Ephesus.  There  is  a  splendid 
city  on  the  plain  ;  there  are  temples  and  theatres  on  the  hills  ;  the 
commerce  of  the  world  seeks  its  port ;  the  luxury  of  the  Orient 
flows  through  its  marble  streets.  You  are  there  one  day  when  the 
sea  has  receded  :  the  plain  is  a  pestilent  marsh  ;  the  temples,  the 
theatres,  the  lofty  gates,  have  sunken  and  crumbled,  and  the  wild- 
brier  runs  over  them  ;  and,  as  you  grow  pensive  in  the  most  desolate 
place  in  the  world,  a  bandit  lounges  out  of  a  tomb,  and  offers  to 
relieve  you  of  all  that  which  creates  artificial  distinctions  in  society. 
The  higher  the  civilization  has  risen,  the  more  abject  is  the  desola 
tion  of  barbarism  that  ensues.  The  most  melancholy  spot  in  the 
Adirondacks  is  not  a  tamarack-swamp,  where  the  traveller  wades 
in  moss  and  mire,  and  the  atmosphere  is  composed  of  equal  active 
parts  of  black-flies,  mosquitoes,  and  midges.  It  is  the  village  of  the 
Adirondack  Iron- Works,  where  the  streets  of  gaunt  houses  are 
falling  to  pieces,  tenantless  ;  the  factory  wheels  have  stopped  ;  the 
furnaces  are  in  ruins ;  the  iron  and  wooden  machinery  is  strewn 
about  in  helpless  detachment ;  and  heaps  of  charcoal,  ore,  and  slag 
proclaim  an  arrested  industry.  Beside  this  deserted  village,  even 
Calamity  Pond,  shallow,  sedgy,  with  its  ragged  shores  of  stunted 
firs,  and  its  melancholy  shaft  that  marks  the  spot  where  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  iron-works  accidentally  shot  himself,  is  cheerful. 

The  instinct  of  barbarism  that  leads  people  periodically  to  throw 
away  the  habits  of  civilization,  and  seek  the  freedom  and  discomfort 
of  the  woods,  is  explicable  enough ;  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  under 
stand  why  this  passion  should  be  strongest  in  those  who  are  most 
refined,  and  most  trained  in  intellectual  and  social  fastidiousness. 
Philistinism  and  shoddy  do  not  like  the  woods,  unless  it  becomes 
fashionable  to  do  so ;  and  then,  as  speedily  as  possible  they  intro 
duce  their  artificial  luxuries,  and  reduce  the  life  in  the  wilderness 
to  the  vulgarity  of  a  well-fed  picnic.  It  is  they  who  have  strewn 
the  Adirondacks  with  paper  collars  and  tin  cans.  The  real  enjoy 
ment  of  camping  and  tramping  in  the  woods  lies  in  a  return  to 
primitive  conditions  of  lodging,  dress,  and  food,  in  as  total  an  escape 
as  may  be  from  the  requirements  of  civilization.  And  it  remains 
to  be  explained  why  this  is  enjoyed  most  by  those  who  are  most 
highly  civilized.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  how  easily  the  restraints  of 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      605 

society  fall  off.  Of  course  it  is  not  true  that  courtesy  depends  upon 
clothes  with  the  best  people ;  but,  with  others,  behavior  hangs 
almost  entirely  upon  dress.  Many  good  habits  are  easily  got  rid  of 
in  the  woods.  Doubt  sometimes  seems  to  be  felt  whether  Sunday 
is  a  legal  holiday  there.  It  becomes  a  question  of  casuistry  with  a 
clergyman  whether  he  may  shoot  at  a  mark  on  Sunday,  if  none  of 
his  congregation  are  present.  He  intends  no  harm  :  he  only  grati 
fies  a  curiosity  to  see  if  he  can  hit  the  mark.  Where  shall  he  draw 
the  line  ?  Doubtless  he  might  throw  a  stone  at  a  chipmunk  or  shout 
at  a  loon.  Might  he  fire  at  a  mark  with  an  air-gun  that  makes 
no  noise  ?  He  will  not  fish  or  hunt  on  Sunday  (although  he  is  no 
more  likely  to  catch  anything  that  day  than  on  any  other) ;  but  may 
'he  eat  trout  that  the  guide  has  caught  on  Sunday,  if  the  guide 
swears  he  caught  them  Saturday  night  ?  Is  there  such  a  thing  as 
a  vacation  in  religion  ?  How  much  of  our  virtue  do  we  owe  to 
inherited  habits  ? 

I  am  not  at  all  sure  whether  this  desire  to  camp  outside  of 
civilization  is  creditable  to  human  nature,  or  otherwise.  We  hear 
sometimes  that  the  Turk  has  been  merely  camping  for  four  centu 
ries  in  Europe.  I  suspect  that  many  of  us  are,  after  all,  really 
camping  temporarily  in  civilized  conditions ;  and  that  going  into 
the  wilderness  is  an  escape,  longed  for,  into  our  natural  and  pre 
ferred  state.  Consider  what  this  "camping  out"  is,  that  is  con 
fessedly  so  agreeable  to  people  most  delicately  reared.  I  have 
no  desire  to  exaggerate  its  delights. 

The  Adirondack  wilderness  is  essentially  unbroken.  A  few  bad 
roads  that  penetrate  it,  a  few  jolting  wagons  that  traverse  them,  a 
few  barn-like  boarding-houses  on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  where  the 
boarders  are  soothed  by  patent  coffee,  and  stimulated  to  unnatural 
gayety  by  Japan  tea,  and  experimented  on  by  unique  cookery,  do 
little  to  destroy  the  savage  fascination  of  the  region.  In  half  an 
hour,  at  any  point,  one  can  put  himself  into  solitude  and  every 
desirable  discomfort.  The  party  that  covets  the  experience  of  the 
camp  comes  down  to  primitive  conditions  of  dress  and  equipment. 
There  are  guides  and  porters  to  carry  the  blankets  for  beds,  the 
raw  provisions,  and  the  camp  equipage ;  and  the  motley  party  of 
the  temporarily  decivilized  files  into  the  woods,  and  begins,  perhaps 


6o6        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

by  a  road,  perhaps  on  a  trail,  its  exhilarating  and  weary  march, 
The  exhilaration  arises  partly  from  the  casting  aside  of  restraint, 
partly  from  the  adventure  of  exploration  ;  and  the  weariness,  from 
the  interminable  toil  of  bad  walking,  a  heavy  pack,  and  the  grim 
monotony  of  trees  and  bushes,  that  shut  out  all  prospect,  except 
an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  sky.  Mountains  are  painfully  climbed, 
streams  forded,  lonesome  lakes  paddled  over,  long  and  muddy 
"  carries  "  traversed.  Fancy  this  party  the  victim  of  political  exile, 
banished  by  the  law,  and  a  more  sorrowful  march  could  not  be 
imagined  ;  but  the  voluntary  hardship  becomes  pleasure,  and  it  is 
undeniable  that  the  spirits  of  the  party  rise  as  the  difficulties  increase. 
For  this  straggling  and  stumbling  band  the  world  is  young  again  : 
it  has  come  to  the  beginning  of  things ;  it  has  cut  loose  from  tra-  • 
dition,  and  is  free  to  make  a  home  anywhere  :  the  movement  has 
all  the  promise  of  a  revolution.  All  this  virginal  freshness  invites 
the  primitive  instincts  of  play  and  disorder.  The  free  range  of  the 
forests  suggests  endless  possibilities  of  exploration  and  possession. 
Perhaps  we  are  treading  where  man  since  the  creation  never  trod 
before  ;  perhaps  the  waters  of  this  bubbling  spring,  which  we  deepen 
by  scraping  out  the  decayed  leaves  and  the  black  earth,  have  never 
been  tasted  before,  except  by  the  wild  denizens  of  these  woods. 
We  cross  the  trails  of  lurking  animals,  —  paths  that  heighten  our 
sense  of  seclusion  from  the  world.  The  hammering  of  the  infre 
quent  woodpecker,  the  call  of  the  lonely  bird,  the  drumming  of  the 
solitary  partridge,  —  all  these  sounds  do  but  emphasize  the  lone- 
someness  of  nature.  The  roar  of  the  mountain  brook,  dashing 
over  its  bed  of  pebbles,  rising  out  of  the  ravine,  and  spreading,  as 
it  were,  a  mist  of  sound  through  all  the  forest  (continuous  beating 
waves  that  have  the  rhythm  of  eternity  in  them),  and  the  fitful 
movement  of  the  air-tides  through  the  balsams  and  firs  and  the 
giant  pines,  —  how  these  grand  symphonies  shut  out  the  little  ex 
asperations  of  our  vexed  life !  It  seems  easy  to  begin  life  over 
again  on  the  simplest  terms.  Probably  it  is  not  so  much  the  desire 
of  the  congregation  to  escape  from  the  preacher,  or  of  the  preacher 
to  escape  from  himself,  that  drives  sophisticated  people  into  the 
wilderness,  as  it  is  the  unconquered  craving  for  primitive  simplicity, 
the  revolt  against  the  everlasting  dress-parade  of  our  civilization. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      607 

From  this  monstrous  pomposity  even  the  artificial  rusticity  of  a 
Petit  Trianon  is  a  relief.  It  was  only  human  nature  that  the  jaded 
Frenchman  of  the  regency  should  run  away  to  the  New  World, 
and  live  in  a  forest-hut  with  an  Indian  squaw ;  although  he  found 
little  satisfaction  in  his  act  of  heroism,  unless  it  was  talked  about 
at  Versailles. 

When  our  trampers  come,  late  in  the  afternoon,  to  the  bank  of 
a  lovely  lake  where  they  purpose  to  enter  the  primitive  life,  every 
thing  is  waiting  for  them  in  virgin  expectation.  There  is  a  little 
promontory  jutting  into  the  lake,  and  sloping  down  to  a  sandy 
beach,  on  which  the  waters  idly  lapse,  and  shoals  of  red-fins  and 
shiners  come  to  greet  the  stranger  ;  the  forest  is  untouched  by  the 
axe ;  the  tender  green  sweeps  the  water's  edge ;  ranks  of  slender 
firs  are  marshalled  by  the  shore  ;  clumps  of  white-birch  stems  shine 
in  satin  purity  among  the  evergreens  ;  the  boles  of  giant  spruces, 
maples,  and  oaks,  lifting  high  their  crowns  of  foliage,  stretch  away 
in  endless  galleries  and  arcades  ;  through  the  shifting  leaves  the 
sunshine  falls  upon  the  brown  earth  ;  overhead  are  fragments  of 
blue  sky ;  under  the  boughs  and  in  chance  openings  appear  the 
bluer  lake  and  the  outline  of  the  gracious  mountains.  The  dis 
coverers  of  this  paradise,  which  they  have  entered  to  destroy,  note 
the  babbling  of  the  brook  that  flows  close  at  hand ;  they  hear  the 
splash  of  the  leaping  fish ;  they  listen  to  the  sweet,  metallic  song 
of  the  evening  thrush,  and  the  chatter  of  the  red  squirrel,  who 
angrily  challenges  their  right  to  be  there.  But  the  moment  of 
sentiment  passes.  This  party  has  come  here  to  eat  and  to  sleep, 
and  not  to  encourage  Nature  in  her  poetic  attitudinizing. 

The  spot  for  a  shanty  is  selected.  This  side  shall  be  its  open 
ing,  towards  the  lake ;  and  in  front  of  it  the  fire,  so  that  the  smoke 
shall  drift  into  the  hut,  and  discourage  the  mosquitoes ;  yonder 
shall  be  the  cook's  fire  and  the  path  to  the  spring.  The  whole 
colony  bestir  themselves  in  the  foundation  of  a  new  home,  —  an 
enterprise  that  has  all  the  fascination,  and  none  of  the  danger,  of  a 
veritable  new  settlement  in  the  wilderness.  The  axes  of  the  guides 
resound  in  the  echoing  spaces  ;  great  trunks  fall  with  a  crash  ; 
vistas  are  opened  towards  the  lake  and  the  mountains.  The  spot 
for  the  shanty  is  cleared  of  underbrush  ;  forked  stakes  are  driven 


608         READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

into  the  ground,  cross-pieces  are  laid  on  them,  and  poles  sloping 
back  to  the  ground.  In  an  incredible  space  of  time  there  is  the 
skeleton  of  a  house,  which  is  entirely  open  in  front.  The  roof  and 
sides  must  be  covered.  For  this  purpose  the  trunks  of  great  spruces 
are  skinned.  The  woodman  rims  the  bark  near  the  foot  of  the 
tree,  and  again  six  feet  above,  and  slashes  it  perpendicularly ;  then, 
with  a  blunt  stick,  he  crowds  off  this  thick  hide  exactly  as  an  ox  is 
skinned.  It  needs  but  a  few  of  these  skins  to  cover  the  roof ;  and 
they  make  a  perfectly  water-tight  roof,  except  when  it  rains.  Mean 
time,  busy  hands  have  gathered  boughs  of  the  spruce  and  the 
feathery  balsam,  and  shingled  the  ground  underneath  the  shanty 
for  a  bed.  It  is  an  aromatic  bed  :  in  theory  it  is  elastic  and  con 
soling.  Upon  it  are  spread  the  blankets.  The  sleepers,  of  all  sexes 
and  ages,  are  to  lie  there  in  a  row,  their  feet  to  the  fire,  and  their 
heads  under  the  edge  of  the  sloping  roof.  Nothing  could  be  better 
contrived.  The  fire  is  in  front :  it  is  not  a  fire,  but  a  conflagration 
—  a  vast  heap  of  green  logs  set  on  fire  —  of  pitch,  and  split  dead- 
wood,  and  crackling  balsams,  raging  and  roaring.  By  the  time 
twilight  falls,  the  cook  has  prepared  supper.  Everything  has  been 
cooked  in  a  tin  pail  and  a  skillet,  —  potatoes,  tea,  pork,  mutton, 
slapjacks.  You  wonder  how  everything  could  have  been  prepared 
in  so  few  utensils.  When  you  eat,  the  wonder  ceases  :  everything 
might  have  been  cooked  in  one  pail.  It  is  a  noble  meal ;  and 
nobly  is  it  disposed  of  by  these  amateur  savages,  sitting  about  upon 
logs  and  roots  of  trees.  Never  were  there  such  potatoes,  never 
beans  that  seemed  to  have  more  of  the  bean  in  them,  never  such 
curly  pork,  never  trout  with  more  Indian-meal  on  them,  never 
mutton  more  distinctly  sheepy ;  and  the  tea,  drunk  out  of  a  tin 
cup,  with  a  lump  of  maple-sugar  dissolved  in  it,  —  it  is  the  sort  of 
tea  that  takes  hold,  lifts  the  hair,  and  disposes  the  drinker  to  anec 
dote  and  hilariousness.  There  is  no  deception  about  it :  it  tastes 
of  tannin  and  spruce  and  creosote.  Everything,  in  short,  has  the 
flavor  of  the  wilderness  and  a  free  life.  It  is  idyllic.  And  yet,  with 
all  our  sentimentality,  there  is  nothing  feeble  about  the  cooking. 
The  slapjacks  are  a  solid  job  of  work,  made  to  last,  and  not  go  to 
pieces  in  a  person's  stomach  like  a  trivial  bun  :  we  might  record 
on  them,  in  cuneiform  characters,  our  incipient  civilization ;  and 


LATER  NATIONAL   PERIOD  —  MINOR  WRITERS      609 

future  generations  would  doubtless  turn  them  up  as  Acadian  bricks. 
Good,  robust  victuals  are  what  the  primitive  man  wants. 

Darkness  falls  suddenly.  Outside  the  ring  of  light  from  our 
conflagration  the  woods  are  black.  There  is  a  tremendous  impres 
sion  of  isolation  and  lonesomeness  in  our  situation.  We  are  the 
prisoners  of  the  night.  The  woods  never  seemed  so  vast  and 
mysterious.  The  trees  are  gigantic.  There  are  noises  that  we  do 
not  understand,  —  mysterious  winds  passing  overhead,  and  ram 
bling  in  the  great  galleries,  tree-trunks  grinding  against  each  other, 
undefinable  stirs  and  uneasinesses.  The  shapes  of  those  who  pass 
into  the  dimness  are  outlined  in  monstrous  proportions.  The 
spectres,  seated  about  in  the  glare  of  the  fire,  talk  about  appear 
ances  and  presentiments  and  religion.  The  guides  cheer  the  night 
with  bear-fights,  and  catamount  encounters,  and  frozen-to-death 
experiences,  and  simple  tales  of  great  prolixity  and  no  point,  and 
jokes  of  primitive  lucidity.  We  hear  catamounts,  and  the  stealthy 
tread  of  things  in  the  leaves,  and  the  hooting  of  owls,  and,  when 
the  moon  rises,  the  laughter  of  the  loon.  Everything  is  strange, 
spectral,  fascinating. 

By  and  by  we  get  our  positions  in  the  shanty  for  the  night,  and 
arrange  the  row  of  sleepers.  The  shanty  has  become  a  smoke 
house  by  this  time :  waves  of  smoke  roll  into  it  from  the  fire.  It 
is  only  by  lying  down,  and  getting  the  head  well  under  the  eaves, 
that  one  can  breathe.  No  one  can  find  her  "  things ;  "  nobody 
has  a  pillow.  At  length  the  row  is  laid  out,  with  the  solemn  pro 
testation  of  intention  to  sleep.  The  wind,  shifting,  drives  away 
the  smoke.  Good-night  is  said  a  hundred  times  ;  positions  are  re 
adjusted,  more  last  words,  new  shifting  about,  final  remarks  ;  it  is 
all  so  comfortable  and  romantic ;  and  then  silence.  Silence  con 
tinues  for  a  minute.  The  fire  flashes  up ;  all  the  row  of  heads  is 
lifted  up  simultaneously  to  watch  it ;  showers  of  sparks  sail  aloft 
into  the  blue  night ;  the  vast  vault  of  greenery  is  a  fairy  spectacle. 
How  the  sparks  mount  and  twinkle  and  disappear  like  tropical 
fire-flies,  and  all  the  leaves  murmur,  and  clap  their  hands !  Some 
of  the  sparks  do  not  go  out :  we  see  them  flaming  in  the  sky  when 
the  flame  of  the  fire  has  died  down.  Well,  good-night,  good-night. 
More  folding  of  the  arms  to  sleep ;  more  grumbling  about  the 


6 io        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

hardness  of  a  hand-bag,  or  the  insufficiency  of  a  pocket-handker 
chief,  for  a  pillow.  Good-night.  Was  that  a  remark  ?  —  something 
about  a  root,  a  stub  in  the  ground  sticking  into  the  back.  "  You 
could  n't  lie  along  a  hair  ?  "  "  Well,  no  :  here  's  another  stub." 
It  needs  but  a  moment  for  the  conversation  to  become  general,  — 
about  roots  under  the  shoulder,  stubs  in  the  back,  a  ridge  on  which 
it  is  impossible  for  the  sleeper  to  balance,  the  non-elasticity  of 
boughs,  the  hardness  of  the  ground,  the  heat,  the  smoke,  the 
chilly  air.  Subjects  of  remarks  multiply.  The  whole  camp  is 
awake,  and  chattering  like  an  aviary.  The  owl  is  also  awake  ;  but 
the  guides  who  are  asleep  outside  make  more  noise  than  the  owls. 
Water  is  wanted,  and  is  handed  about  in  a  dipper.  Everybody  ic 
yawning ;  everybody  is  now  determined  to  go  to  sleep  in  good 
earnest.  A  last  good-night.  There  is  an  appalling  silence.  It  is 
interrupted  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world.  Somebody  has 
got  the  start,  and  gone  to  sleep.  He  proclaims  the  fact.  He  seems 
to  have  been  brought  up  on  the  seashore,  and  to  know  how  to  make 
all  the  deep-toned  noises  of  the  restless  ocean.  He  is  also  like  a 
war-horse  ;  or,  it  is  suggested,  like  a  saw-horse.  How  malignantly 
he  snorts,  and  breaks  off  short,  and  at  once  begins  again  in  another 
key  !  One  head  is  raised  after  another. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  " 

"  Somebody  punch  him." 

"  Turn  him  over." 

"  Reason  with  him." 

The  sleeper  is  turned  over.  The  turn  was  a  mistake.  He  was 
before,  it  appears,  on  his  most  agreeable  side.  The  camp  rises  in 
indignation.  The  sleeper  sits  up  in  bewilderment.  Before  he  can 
go  off  again,  two  or  three  others  have  preceded  him.  They  are  all 
alike.  You  can  never  judge  what  a  person  is  when  he  is  awake. 
There  are  here  half  a  dozen  disturbers  of  the  peace  who  should 
be  put  in  solitary  confinement.  At  midnight,  when  a  philosopher 
crawls  out  to  sit  on  a  log  by  the  fire,  and  smoke  a  pipe,  a  duet  in 
tenor  and  mezzo-soprano  is  going  on  in  the  shanty,  with  a  chorus 
always  coming  in  at  the  wrong  time.  Those  who  are  not  asleep 
want  to  know  why  the  smoker  does  n't  go  to  bed.  He  is  requested 
to  get  some  water,  to  throw  on  another  log,  to  see  what  time  it  is, 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      611 

to  note  whether  it  looks  like  rain.  A  buzz  of  conversation  arises. 
She  is  sure  she  heard  something  behind  the  shanty.  He  says  it  is 
all  nonsense.  "  Perhaps,  however,  it  might  be  a  mouse." 

11  Mercy  !    Are  there  mice  ?  " 

"  Plenty." 

"  Then  that 's  what  I  heard  nibbling  by  my  head.  I  shan't 
sleep  a  wink  !  Do  they  bite  ?  " 

"  No,  they  nibble  ;  scarcely  ever  take  a  full  bite  out." 

"  It 's  horrid  !" 

Towards  morning  it  grows  chilly ;  the  guides  have  let  the  fire 
go  out ;  the  blankets  will  slip  down.  Anxiety  begins  to  be  expressed 
about  the  dawn. 

"  What  time  does  the  sun  rise  ?  " 

"  Awful  early.    Did  you  sleep  ?  " 

"  Not  a  wink.    And  you  ?  " 

"In  spots.  I  'm  going  to  dig  up  this  root  as  soon  as  it  is  light 
enough." 

"  See  that  mist  on  the  lake,  and  the  light  just  coming  on  the 
Gothics !  I  'd  no  idea  it  was  so  cold  :  all  the  first  part  of  the 
night  I  was  roasted." 

"  What  were  they  talking  about  all  night  ?  " 

When  the  party  crawls  out  to  the  early  breakfast,  after  it  has 
washed  its  faces  in  the  lake,  it  is  disorganized,  but  cheerful.  No 
body  admits  much  sleep  ;  but  everybody  is  refreshed,  and  declares 
it  delightful.  It  is  the  fresh  air  all  night  that  invigorates  ;  or  maybe 
it  is  the  tea  or  the  slapjacks.  The  guides  have  erected  a  table  of 
spruce  bark,  with  benches  at  the  sides ;  so  that  breakfast  is  taken 
inform.  It  is  served  on  tin  plates  and  oak  chips.  After,  breakfast 
begins  the  day's  work.  It  may  be  a  mountain-climbing  expedition, 
or  rowing  and  angling  in  the  lake,  or  fishing  for  trout  in  some 
stream  two  or  three  miles  distant.  Nobody  can  stir  far  from  camp 
without  a  guide.  Hammocks  are  swung,  bowers  are  built,  novel- 
reading  begins,  worsted  work  appears,  cards  are  shuffled  and  dealt. 
The  day  passes  in  absolute  freedom  from  responsibility  to  one's 
self.  At  night,  when  the  expeditions  return,  the  camp  resumes  its 
animation.  Adventures  are  recounted,  every  statement  of  the  nar 
rator  being  disputed  and  argued.  Everybody  has  become  an  adept 


612        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

in  wood-craft ;  but  nobody  credits  his  neighbor  with  like  instinct. 
Society  getting  resolved  into  its  elements,  confidence  is  gone. 

Whilst  the  hilarious  party  are  at  supper,  a  drop  or  two  of  rain 
falls.  The  head  guide  is  appealed  to.  Is  it  going  to  rain  ?  He  says 
it  does  rain.  But  will  it  be  a  rainy  night  ?  The  guide  goes  down 
to  the  lake,  looks  at  the  sky,  and  concludes  that  if  the  wind  shifts 
a  p'int  more,  there  is  no  telling  what  sort  of  weather  we  shall  have. 
Meantime  the  drops  patter  thicker  on  the  leaves  overhead,  and  the 
leaves,  in  turn,  pass  the  water  down  to  the  table  ;  the  sky  darkens  ; 
the  wind  rises ;  there  is  a  kind  of  shiver  in  the  woods ;  and  we 
scud  away  into  the  shanty,  taking  the  remains  of  our  supper,  and 
eating  it  as  best  we  can.  The  rain  increases.  The  fire  sputters 
and  fumes.  All  the  trees  are  dripping,  dripping,  and  the  ground 
is  wet.  We  cannot  step  out-doors  without  getting  a  drenching. 
Like  sheep,  we  are  penned  in  the  little  hut,  where  no  one  can  stand 
erect.  The  rain  swirls  into  the  open  front,  and  wets  the  bottom 
of  the  blankets.  The  smoke  drives  in.  We  curl  up,  and  enjoy 
ourselves.  The  guides  at  length  conclude  that  it  is  going  to  be 
damp.  The  dismal  situation  sets  us  all  into  good  spirits ;  and  it  is 
later  than  the  night  befpre  when  we  crawl  under  our  blankets,  sure 
this  time  of  a  sound  sleep,  lulled  by  the  storm  and  the  rain  resound 
ing  on  the  bark  roof.  How  much  better  off  we  are  than  many 
a  shelterless  wretch !  We  are  as  snug  as  dry  herrings.  At  the 
moment,  however,  of  dropping  off  to  sleep,  somebody  unfortunately 
notes  a  drop  of  water  on  his  face ;  this  is  followed  by  another  drop ; 
in  an  instant  a  stream  is  established.  He  moves  his  head  to  a  dry 
place.  Scarcely  has  he  done  so,  when  he  feels  a  dampness  in  his 
back.  Reaching  his  hand  outside,  he  finds  a  puddle  of  water  soak 
ing  through  his  blanket.  By  this  time,  somebody  inquires  if  it  is 
possible  that  the  roof  leaks.  One  man  has  a  stream  of  water  under 
him ;  another  says  it  is  coming  into  his  ear.  The  roof  appears  to 
be  a  discriminating  sieve.  Those  who  are  dry  see  no  need  of  such 
a  fuss.  The  man  in  the  corner  spreads  his  umbrella,  and  the  pro 
tective  measure  is  resented  by  his  neighbor.  In  the  darkness  there 
is  recrimination.  One  of  the  guides,  who  is  summoned,  suggests 
that  the  rubber  blankets  be  passed  out,  and  spread  over  the  roof. 
The  inmates  dislike  the  proposal,  saying  that  a  shower-bath  is  no 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD —MINOR  WRITERS      613 

worse  than  a  tub-bath.  The  rain  continues  to  soak  down.  The  fire 
is  only  half  alive.  The  bedding  is  damp.  Some  sit  up,  if  they  can 
find  a  dry  spot  to  sit  on,  and  smoke.  Heartless  observations  are 
made.  A  few  sleep.  And  the  night  wears  on.  The  morning  opens 
cheerless.  The  sky  is  still  leaking,  and  so  is  the  shanty.  The 
guides  bring  in  a  half-cooked  breakfast.  The  roof  is  patched  up. 
There  are  reviving  signs  of  breaking  away,  delusive  signs  that  create 
momentary  exhilaration.  Even  if  the  storm  clears,  the  woods  are 
soaked.  There  is  no  chance  of  stirring.  The  world  is  only  ten 
feet  square. 

This  life,  without  responsibility  or  clean  clothes,  may  continue 
as  long  as  the  reader  desires.  There  are  those  who  would  like  to 
live  in  this  free  fashion  forever,  taking  rain  and  sun  as  heaven 
pleases ;  and  there  are  some  souls  so  constituted  that  they  cannot 
exist  more  than  three  days  without  their  worldly  baggage.  Taking 
the  party  altogether,  from  one  cause  or  another  it  is  likely  to  strike 
camp  sooner  than  was  intended.  And  the  stricken  camp  is  a 
melancholy  sight.  The  woods  have  been  despoiled ;  the  stumps 
are  ugly ;  the  bushes  are  scorched ;  the  pine-leaf-strewn  earth  is 
trodden  into  mire  ;  the  landing  looks  like  a  cattle-ford  ;  the  ground 
is  littered  with  all  the  unsightly  debris  of  a  hand-to-hand  life ;  the 
dismantled  shanty  is  a  shabby  object ;  the  charred  and  blackened 
logs,  where  the  fire  blazed,  suggest  the  extinction  of  family  life. 
Man  has  wrought  his  usual  wrong  upon  Nature,  and  he  can  save 
his  self-respect  only  by  moving  to  virgin  forests. 

And  move  to  them  he  will,  the  next  season,  if  not  this.  For 
he  who  has  once  experienced  the  fascination  of  the  woods-life 
never  escapes  its  enticement :  in  the  memory  nothing  remains  but 
its  charm. 


614        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN 

[Born  at  Hartford,  Connecticut,  October  8,  1833  ;  died  in  New  York, 
January  18,  1908] 

PAN  IN  WALL  STREET 

Just  where  the  Treasury's  marble  front 

Looks  over  Wall  Street's  mingled  nations ; 
Where  Jews  and  Gentiles  most  are  wont 

To  throng  for  trade  and  last  quotations ; 
Where,  hour  by  hour,  the  rates  of  gold 

Outrival,  in  the  ears  of  people, 
The  quarter-chimes,  serenely  tolled 

From  Trinity's  undaunted  steeple,  — 

Even  then  I  heard  a  strange,  wild  strain 

Sound  high  above  the  modern  clamor, 
Above  the  cries  of  greed  and  gain, 

The  curbstone  war,  the  auction's  hammer ; 
And  swift,  on  Music's  misty  ways, 

It  led,  from  all  this  strife  for  millions, 
To  ancient,  sweet-do-nothing  days 

Among  the  kirtle-robed  Sicilians. 

And  as  it  stilled  the  multitude, 

And  yet  more  joyous  rose,  and  shriller, 
I  saw  the  minstrel,  where  he  stood 

At  ease  against  a  Doric  pillar : 
One  hand  a  droning  organ  played, 

The  other  held  a  Pan's-pipe  (fashioned 
Like  those  of  old)  to  lips  that  made 

The  reeds  give  out  that  strain  impassioned. 

'T  was  Pan  himself  had  wandered  here 

A-strolling  through  this  sordid  city, 
And  piping  to  the  civic  ear 

The  prelude  of  some  pastoral  ditty ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      615 

The  demigod  had  crossed  the  seas,  - 

From  haunts  of  shepherd,  nymph,  and  satyr, 

And  Syracusan  times,  —  to  these 

Far  shores  and  twenty  centuries  later. 

A  ragged  cap  was  on  his  head ; 

But  —  hidden  thus  —  there  was  no  doubting 
That,  all  with  crispy  locks  o'erspread, 

His  gnarled  horns  were  somewhere  sprouting ; 
His  club-feet,  cased  in  rusty  shoes, 

Were  crossed,  as  in  some  frieze  you  see  them, 
And  trousers,  patched  of  divers  hues, 

Concealed  his  crooked  shanks  beneath  them. 

He  filled  the  quivering  reeds  with  sound, 

And  o'er  his  mouth  their  changes  shifted, 
And  with  his  goat's-eyes  looked  around 

Where'er  the  passing  current  drifted  ; 
And  soon,  as  on  Trinacrian  hills 

The  nymphs  and  herdsmen  ran  to  hear  him, 
Even  now  the  tradesmen  from  their  tills, 

With  clerks  and  porters  crowded  near  him. 

The  bulls  and  bears  together  drew 

From  Jauncey  Court  and  New  Street  Alley, 
As  erst,  if  pastorals  be  true, 

Came  beats  from  every  wooded  valley ; 
The  random  passers  stayed  to  list  — 

A  boxer  Aegon,  rough  and  merry, 
A  Broadway  Daphnis,  on  his  tryst 

With  Nais  at  the  Brooklyn  Ferry. 

A  one-eyed  Cyclops  halted  long 

In  tattered  cloak  of  army  pattern, 
And  Galatea  joined  the  throng,  - 

A  blowsy,  apple-vending  slattern  ; 


616        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

While  old  Silenus  staggered  out 

From  some  new-fangled  lunch-house  handy, 

And  bade  the  piper,  with  a  shout, 
To  strike  up  Yankee  Doodle  Dandy ! 

A  newsboy  and  a  peanut-girl 

Like  little  Fauns  began  to  caper  : 
His  hair  was  all  in  tangled  curl, 

Her  tawny  legs  were  bare  and  taper ; 
And  still  the  gathering  larger  grew, 

And  gave  its  pence  and  crowded  nigher, 
While  aye  the  shepherd-minstrel  blew 

His  pipe,  and  struck  the  gamut  higher. 

O  heart  of  Nature,  beating  still 

With  throbs  her  vernal  passion  taught  her,  — 
Even  here,  as  on  the  vine-clad  hill, 

Or  by  the  Arethusan  water  ! 
New  forms  may  fold  the  speech,  new  lands 

Arise  within  these  ocean  portals, 
But  Music  waves  eternal  wands,  — 

Enchantress  of  the  souls  of  mortals  ! 

So  thought  I,  —  but  among  us  trod 

A  man  in  blue,  with  legal  baton, 
And  scoffed  the  vagrant  demigod, 

And  pushed  him  from  the  step  I  sat  on. 
Doubting  I  mused  upon  the  cry, 

"  Great  Pan  is  dead  !  "   —and  all  the  people 
Went  on  their  ways  :  —  and  clear  and  high 

The  quarter  sounded  from  the  steeple. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      617 


EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

[Born  at  Windsor,  Connecticut,  1841  ;  died  at  Cleveland,  Ohio, 
February  27,  1887] 

THE  FOOL'S  PRAYER 

The  royal  feast  was  done  ;  the  King 
Sought  some  new  sport  to  banish  care, 

And  to  his  jester  cried  :  "  Sir  Fool, 

Kneel  now,  and  make  for  us  a  prayer !  " 

The  jester  doffed  his  cap  and  bells, 
And  stood  the  mocking  court  before ; 

They  could  not  see  the  bitter  smile 
Behind  the  painted  grin  he  wore. 


He  bowed  his  head,  and  bent  his  knee 
Upon  the  monarch's  silken  stool ; 

His  pleading  voice  arose  :  "  O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool ! 

"  No  pity,  Lord,  could  change  the  heart 
From  red  with  wrong  to  white  as  wool : 

The  rod  must  heal  the  sin  ;  but,  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool ! 

1  'T  is  not  by  guilt  the  onward  sweep 
Of  truth  and  right,  O  Lord,  we  stay ; 

'T  is  by  our  follies  that  so  long 

We  hold  the  earth  from  heaven  away. 

"These  clumsy  feet,  still  in  the  mire, 
Go  crushing  blossoms  without  end  ; 

These  hard,  well-meaning  hands  we  thrust 
Among  the  heart-strings  of  a  friend. 


6i8        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

"  The  ill-timed  truth  we  might  have  kept  — 
Who  knows  how  sharp  it  pierced  and  stung ! 

The  word  we  had  not  sense  to  say  — 
Who  knows  how  grandly  it  had 'rung ! 

"  Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask, 

The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them  all ; 

But.  for  our  blunders  —  oh,  in  shame 
Before  the  eyes  of  heaven  we  fall. 

"  Earth  bears  no  balsam  for  mistakes  ; 

Men  crown  the  knave,  and  scourge  the  tool 
That  did  his  will ;  but  thou,  O  Lord, 

Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool !  " 

The  room  was  hushed  ;  in  silence  rose 
The  King  and  sought  his  gardens  cool, 

And  walked  apart,  and  murmured  low, 
"Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool !  " 


JOAQUIN  MILLER 

[Born  in  Indiana,  November  10,  1841  ;  died  in  California,  February  17,  1913] 
CROSSING  THE  PLAINS 

What  great  yoked  brutes  with  briskets  low, 
With  wrinkled  necks  like  buffalo, 
With  round,  brown,  liquid,  pleading  eyes, 
That  turned  so  slow  and  sad  to  you, 
That  shone  like  love's  eyes  soft  with  tears, 
That  seemed  to  plead,  and  make  replies, 
The  while  they  bowed  their  necks  and  drew 
The  creaking  load  ;  and  looked  at  you. 
Their  sable  briskets  swept  the  ground, 
Their  cloven  feet  kept  solemn  sound. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      619 

Two  sullen  bullocks  led  the  line, 
Their  great  eyes  shining  bright  like  wine  ; 
Two  sullen  captive  kings  were  they, 
That  had  in  time  held  herds  at  bay, 
And  even  now  they  crushed  the  sod 
With  stolid  sense  of  majesty, 
And  stately  stepped  and  stately  trod, 
As  if  it  were  something  still  to  be 
Kings  even  in  captivity. 

BY  THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN 

Here  room  and  kingly  silence  keep 

Companionship  in  state  austere  ; 

The  dignity  of  death  is  here, 

The  large,  lone  vastness  of  the  deep ,     . ;  I. 

Here  toil  has  pitched  his  camp  to  rest : 

The  west  is  banked  against  the  west. 

Above  yon  gleaming  skies  of  gold 
One  lone  imperial  peak  is  seen ; 
While  gathered  at  his  feet  in  green 
Ten  thousand  foresters  are  told ; 
And  all  so  still !  so  still  the  air 
That  duty  drops  the  web  of  care. 

Beneath  the  sunset's  golden  sheaves 
The  awful  deep  walks  with  the  deep, 
Where  silent  sea  doves  slip  and  sweep, 
And  commerce  keeps  her  loom  and  weaves, 
The  dead  red  men  refuse  to  rest ; 
Their  ghosts  illume  my  lurid  West. 

COLUMBUS 

Behind  him  lay  the  gray  Azores, 
.    ;:   :  :       Behind  the  Gates  of  Hercules;  • 
Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores, 
Before  him  only  shoreless  seas. 


620        READINGS   FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

The  good  mate  said  :  "  Now  must  we  pray, 
For  lo  !  the  very  stars  are  gone. 

Brave  Admiral,  speak,  what  shall  I  say  ?  " 
"  Why,  say,  '  Sail  on  !  sail  on  !  and  on  ! '  " 

"  My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day  ; 

My  men  grow  ghastly  wan  and  weak." 
The  stout  mate  thought  of  home ;  a  spray 

Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 
"  What  shall  I  say,  brave  Admiral,  say, 

If  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn  ?  " 
"  Why  you  shall  say  at  break  of  day, 

'  Sail  on  !  sail  on  !  sail  on  !  and  on  ! '  " 

They  sailed  and  sailed,  as  winds  might  blow, 

Until  at  last  the  blanched  man  said  : 
"  Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 

Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 
Those  very  winds  forget  their  way, 

For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone, 
Now  speak,  brave  Admiral,  speak  and  say  "  — 

He  said  :  "  Sail  on  !  sail  on  !  and  on  !  " 

They  sailed.    They  sailed.    Then  spake  the  mate 

'  This  mad  sea  shows  his  teeth  to-night. 
He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait, 

With  lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite ! 
Brave  Admiral,  say  but  one  good  word  : 

What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone  ?  " 
The  words  leaped  like  a  leaping  sword : 

"  Sail  on  !  sail  on  !  sail  on  !  and  on  !  " 

Then,  pale  and  worn,  he  kept  his  deck, 

And  peered  through  darkness.   Ah,  that  night 

Of  all  dark  nights  !    And  then  a  speck  — 
A  light !    A  light !    A  light !    A  light ! 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      621 

It  grew,  a  starlit  flag  unfurled ! 

It  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dawn. 
He  gained  a  world  ;  he  gave  that  world 

Its  grandest  lesson  :  "  On  !  sail  on  !  " 


EMILY  DICKINSON 

[Born  at  Amherst,   Massachusetts,  December  10,  1830;  died  at 
Amherst,  May  15,  1886] 

THE  HUMMING-BIRD1 

A  route  of  evanescence 
With  a  revolving  wheel ; 
A  resonance  of  emerald, 
A  rush  of  cochineal ; 
And  every  blossom  on  the  bush 
Adjusts  its  tumbled  head,  — 
The  mail  from  Tunis,  probably, 
An  easy  morning's  ride. 

OUT  OF  THE  MORNING1 

Will  there  really  be  a  morning  ? 
Is  there  such  a  thing  as  day  ? 
Could  I  see  it  from  the  mountains 
If  I  were  as  tall  as  they  ? 

Has  it  feet  like  water-lilies  ? 
Has  it  feathers  like  a  bird  ? 
Is  it  brought  from  famous  countries 
Of  which  I  have  never  heard  ? 

Oh,  some  scholar !    Oh,  some  sailor ! 
Oh,  some  wise  man  from  the  skies ! 
Please  to  tell  a  little  pilgrim 
Where  the  place  called  morning  lies ! 

1  From  J&e  poems  of  Emily  Dickinson.   Copyright,  1891,  by  Roberts  Brother*. 


622        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

CHARTLESS1 

-  -.  .  I  never  saw  a  moor, 
I  never  saw  the  sea ; 
Yet  know  I  how  the  heather  looks, 
And  what  a  wave  must  be. 


I  never  spoke  with  God, 
Nor  visited  in  heaven  ; 
Yet  certain  am  I  of  the  spot 
As  if  the  chart  were  given. 


THE  ROBIN1 

The  robin  is  the  one 
That  interrupts  the  morn 
With  hurried,  few,  express  reports 
When  March  is  scarcely  on. 

The  robin  is  the  one 
That  overflows  the  noon 
With  her  cherubic  quantity, 
An  April  but  begun. 

The  robin  is  the  one 
That  speechless  from  her  nest 
Submits  that  home  and  certainty 
And  sanctity  are  best. 


IN  THE  GARDEN  l 

:  T    A  bird  came  down  the  walk  : 
He  did  not  know  I  saw ; 
He  bit  an  angle- worm  in  halves 
And  ate  the  fellow,  raw. 

Poems  of  Emily  Dickinson.   Copyright,  1891,  by  Roberts  Brothers. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      623 

And  then  he  drank  a  dew 

From  a  convenient  grass, 

And  then  hopped  sidewise  to  the  wall 

To  let  a  beetle  pass. 

He  glanced  with  rapid  eyes 

That  hurried  all  abroad,  — 

They  looked  like  frightened  beads,  I  thought ; 

He  stirred  his  velvet  head 

Like  one  in  danger  ;  cautious, 
I  offered  him  a  crumb, 
And  he  unrolled  his  feathers 
And  rowed  him  softer  home 

Than  oars  divide  the  ocean, 
Too  silver  for  a  seam, 
Or  butterflies,  off  banks  of  noon, 
Leap,  plashless,  as  they  swim. 


AUTUMN  i 

.  The  morns  are  meeker  than  they  were, 
The  nuts  are  getting  brown  ; 
The  berry's  cheek  is  plumper, 
The  rose  is  out  of  town. 
The  maple  wears  a  gayer  scarf, 
The  field  a  scarlet  gown. 
Lest  I  should  be  old-fashioned, 
I  '1.1  put  a  trinket  on. 

From  the  Poems  of  Emily  Dickinson.   Copyright,  1890,  by  Roberts  Brothers. 


624        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

IF  I  CAN  STOP  ONE  HEART  FROM  BREAKING1 

If  I  can  stop  one  heart  from  breaking, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain ; 

If  I  can  ease  one  life  the  aching, 

Or  cool  one  pain, 

Or  help  one  fainting  robin 

Into  his  nest  again, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain. 


EUGENE  FIELD 

[Born  at  St.  Louis,  Missouri,  September  2,  1850;  died  at  Chicago, 
November  4,  1 895] 

WYNKEN,  BLYNKEN,  AND  NOD 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 

Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe,  - 
Sailed  on  a  river  of  crystal  light 

Into  a  sea  of  dew. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you  wish  ?  " 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 
"  We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring  fish 
That  live  in  this  beautiful  sea ; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we," 
Said  Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

The  old  moon  laughed  and  sang  a  song, 
As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe ; 

And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 
Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew  ; 

The  little  stars  were  the  herring-fish 
That  lived  in  the  beautiful  sea. 

i  From  the  Poems  of  Emily  Dickinson.   Copyright,  1890,  by  Roberts  Brothers. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  —MINOR  WRITERS      625 

"  Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish,  — 
Never  af  eared  are  we  !  " 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three, 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 

To  the  stars  in  the  twinkling  foam,  — 
Then  down  from  the  skies  came  the  wooden  shoe, 

Bringing  the  fishermen  home  : 
'T  was  all  so  pretty  a  sail,  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be  ; 

And  some  folks  thought  't  was  a  dream  they  'd  dreamed 
Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea  ; 
But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three  : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head, 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle-bed ; 
So  shut  your  eyes  while  Mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 
As  you  rock  on  the  misty  sea 
Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three,  — 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 


626        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

LITTLE  BOY  BLUE 

The  little  toy  dog  is  covered  with  dust, 

But  sturdy  and  stanch  he  stands  ; 
And  the  little  toy  soldier  is  red  with  rust, 

And  his  musket  moulds  in  his  hands. 
Time  was  when  the  little  toy  dog  was  new, 

And  the  soldier  was  passing  fair ; 
And  that  was  the  time  when  our  Little  Boy  Blue 

Kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 

"  Now,  don't  you  go  till  I  come,'*  he  said, 

"  And  don't  you  make  any  noise !  " 
So,  toddling  off  to  his  trundle-bed, 

He  dreamt  of  the  pretty  toys. 
And,  as  he  was  dreaming,  an  angel  song 

Awakened  our  Little  Boy  Blue  — 
Oh  !  the  years  are  many,  the  years  are  long, 

But  the  little  toy  friends  are  true ! 

Ay,  faithful  to  Little  Boy  Blue  they  stand, 

Each  in  the  same  old  place, 
Awaiting  the  touch  of  a  little  hand, 

The  smile  of  a  little  face  ; 
And  they  wonder,  as  waiting  the  long  years  through 

In  the  dust  of  that  little  chair, 
What  has  become  of  our  Little  Boy  Blue, 

Since  he  kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 

IN  THE  FIRELIGHT 

The  fire  upon  the  hearth  is  low, 
And  there  is  stillness  everywhere, 
And,  like  winged  spirits,  here  and  there 

The  firelight  shadows  fluttering  go. 

And  as  the  shadows  round  me  creep, 
A  childish  treble  breaks  the  gloom, 
And  softly  from  a  further  room 

Comes  :  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      627 

And,  somehow,  with  that  little  prayer 

And  that  sweet  treble  in  my  ears, 

My  thoughts  go  back  to  distant  years, 
And  linger  with  a  dear  one  there  ; 
And  as  I  hear  my  child's  amen, 

My  mother's  faith  comes  back  to  me,  — 

Crouched  at  her  side  I  seem  to  be, 
And  mother  holds  my  hands  again. 

Oh  for  an  hour  in  that  dear  place, 

Oh  for  the  peace  of  that  dear  time, 

Oh  for  that  childish  trust  sublime, 
Oh  for  a  glimpse  of  mother's  face ! 
Yet,  as  the  shadows  round  me  creep, 

I  do  not  seem  to  be  alone  — 

Sweet  magic  of  that  treble  tone 
And  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  !  " 


JAMES  WHITCOMB   RILEY 

[Born  at  Greenfield,  Indiana,  October  7, 1853;  died  at  Indianapolis,  July  23, 1916] 
WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME1 

When  she  comes  home  again  !  A  thousand  ways 

I  fashion,  to  myself,  the  tenderness 

Of  my  glad  welcome  :  I  shall  tremble  —  yes  ; 

And  touch  her,  as  when  first  in  the  old  days 

I  touched  her  girlish  hand,  nor  dared  upraise 

Mine  eyes,  such  was  my  faint  heart's  sweet  distress. 

Then  silence  :  and  the  perfume  of  her  dress  : 

The  room  will  sway  a  little,  and  a  haze 

Cloy  eyesight  —  soulsight,  even  —  for  a  space ; 

To  know  that  I  so  ill  deserve  the  place 

Her  arms  make  for  me  ;  and  the  sobbing  note 

I  stay  with  kisses,  ere  the  tearful  face 

Again  is  hidden  in  the  old  embrace. 

i  From  "  Poems  Here  at  Home"  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley.  Copyright,  1893,  The  Bobbs- 
Mcrrill  Company. 


628        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

THE  RAGGEDY  MAN1 

O  the  Raggedy  Man !  He  works  fer  Pa ; 
An'  he  's  the  goodest  man  ever  you  saw ! 
He  comes  to  our  house  every  day, 
An*  waters  the  horses,  an'  feeds  'em  hay ; 
An'  he  opens  the  shed  —  an'  we  all  ist  laugh 
When  he  drives  out  our  little  old  wobble-ly  calf ; 
An'  nen  —  ef  our  hired  girl  says  he  can  — 
He  milks  the  cow  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann.  — 
Ain't  he  a'  awful  good  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy  !  Raggedy  !  Raggedy  Man  ! 

W'y,  the  Raggedy  Man  —  he  's  ist  so  good, 
He  splits  the  kindlin'  an'  chops  the  wood ; 
An'  nen  he  spades  in  our  garden,  too, 
An*  does  most  things  'at  boys  can't  do.  — 
He  clumbed  clean  up  in  our  big  tree 
An'  shook  a'  apple  down  fer  me  — 
An'  'nother,  too,  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann  — 
An'  'nother,  too,  fer  the  Raggedy  Man.  — 
Ain't  he  a'  awful  kind  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy  !  Raggedy  !  Raggedy  Man  ! 

An'  the  Raggedy  Man,  he  knows  most  rhymes, 
An'  tells  'em  ef  I  be  good,  sometimes  : 
Knows  'bout  Giunts,  an'  Griffuns,  an'  Elves, 
An'  the  Squidgicum-Squees  'at  swallers  theirselves  I 
An'  wite  by  the  pump  in  our  pasture-lot, 
He  showed  me  the  hole  'at  the  Wunks  is  got, 
'At  lives  'way  deep  in  the  ground,  'an  can 
Turn  into  me,  er  'Lizabuth  Ann ! 
Ain't  he  a  funny  old  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy  !  Raggedy  !  Raggedy  Man  ! 

1  From  "  Rhymes  of  Childhood "  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley.    Copyright,  1900,  The 
Bobbs-Merrill  Company. 


LATER  NATIONAL  PERIOD  — MINOR  WRITERS      629 

The  Raggedy  Man  —  one  time,  when  he 
Wuz  makin'  a  little  bow'-n'-orry  fer  me, 
Says,  M  When  you  're  big  like  your  Pa  is 
Air  you  go'  to  keep  a  fine  store  like  his  — 
An*  be  a  rich  merchunt  —  an'  wear  fine  clothes  ?  — 
Er  what  air  you  go'  to  be,  goodness  knows  ?  " 
An'  nen  he  laughed  at  'Lizabuth  Ann, 
An'  I  says,  "  'M  go'  to  be  a  nice  Raggedy  Man ! " 
Raggedy  !  Raggedy  !  Raggedy  Man  ! 


THE  DAYS  GONE  BY1 

Oh,  the  days  gone  by !  Oh,  the  days  gone  by ! 

The  apples  in  the  orchard,  and  the  pathway  through  the  rye ; 

The  chirrup  of  the  robin,  and  the  whistle  of  the  quail 

As  he  piped  across  the  meadows  sweet  as  any  nightingale ; 

When  the  bloom  was  on  the  clover,  and  the  blue  was  in  the  sky, 

And  my  happy  heart  brimmed  over,  in  the  days  gone  by. 

In  the  days  gone  by,  when  my  naked  feet  were  tripped, 
By  the  honeysuckle's  tangles,  where  the  water  lilies  dipped, 
And  the  ripple  of  the  river  lipped  the  moss  along  the  brink, 
Where  the  placid-eyed  and  lazy-footed  cattle  came  to  drink, 
And  the  tilting  snipe  stood  fearless  of  the  truant's  wayward  cry, 
And  the  splashing  of  the  swimmer,  in  the  days  gone  by. 

Oh,  the  days  gone  by  !  Oh,  the  days  gone  by  ! 
The  music  of  the  laughing  lip,  the  lustre  of  the  eye ; 
The  childish  faith  in  fairies,  and  Aladdin's  magic  ring, 
The  simple,  soul-reposing,  glad  belief  in  everything, 
When  life  was  like  a  story,  holding  neither  sob  nor  sigh, 
In  the  olden,  golden  glory  of  the  days  gone  by. 

1  From  "  Rhymes  of  Childhood "  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley.    Copyright,  1900,  The 
Bobbs-Merrill  Company. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Adams,  Samuel,  118 
Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  602 

Barlow,  Joel,  147 
Beverley,  Robert,  74 
Bradford,  William,  8 
Bradstreet,  Anne,  33 
Brown,  Charles  Brockden,  167 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  239 
Byrd,  William,  79 

Cooper,  James  Fenimore,  225 
Cotton,  John,  25 

Dickinson,  Emily,  621 
Drake,  Joseph  Rodman,  177 
D wight,  Timothy,  141 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  83 
Eliot,  John,  44 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  316 
Evans,  Nathaniel,  112 

Field,  Eugene,  624 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  92 
Freneau,  Philip,  135 

Godfrey,  Thomas,  no 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  182 
Hamilton,  Alexander,  129 
Harte,  Francis  Bret,  601 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  352 
Hayne,  Paul  Hamilton,  598 
Henry,  Patrick,  120 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  480 

Irving,  Washington,  186 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  125 
Johnson,  Edward,  39 


Lanier,  Sidney,  584 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  291 
Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  366 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  515 

Mather,  Cotton,  59 
Miller,  Joaquin,  618 
Motley,  John  Lothrop,  301 

Otis,  James,  119 

Paine,  Thomas,  130 
Parkman,  Francis,  312 
Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  254 
Prescott,  William  Hickling,  294 

Riley,  James  Whitcomb,  627 
Roulandson,  Mary,  56 

Sewall,  Samuel,  66 

Sill,  Edward  Rowland,  617 

Smith,  John,  i 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence,  614 

Taylor,  Bayard,  591 
Thoreau,  Henry,  507 
Timrod,  Henry,  594 
Trumbull,  John,  141 
Tucker,  St.  George,  152 
Tyler,  Royall,  159 

Ward,  Nathaniel,  28 
Warner,  Charles  Dudley,  603 
Washington,  George,  123 
Webster,  Daniel,  276 
Whitman,  Walt,  573 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  435 
Wigglesworth,  Michael,  47 
Winthrop,  John,  18 
Woolman,  John,  115 


631 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Abraham  Lincoln,  551 
Additional  Alphabet  Verses,  91 
Aladdin,  520 
Almanacs,  The,  92 
America,  593 
American  Flag,  The,  180 
Amyntor,  1 1 1 

Anecdote  of  Dr.  Franklin,  An,  127 
Annabel  Lee,  258 
April,  322 

Aspects  of  the  Pines,  598 
At  Magnolia  Cemetery,  597 
Attack  by  Indians,  56 
Author  to  her  Book,  The,  38 
Autobiography,  The  (Extracts),  Benja 
min  Franklin,  100 
Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast-Table,  The, 

49° 
Autumn,  623 

Bacon's  Death,  51 

Bacon's  Epitaph,  made  by  his  Man,  52 

Ballad  of  Nathan  Hale,  The,  156 

Ballad  of  Trees  and  the  Master,  A,  586 

Barefoot  Boy,  The,  442 

Battle  of  the  Kegs,  The,  153 

Battle  of  Trenton,  158 

Bedouin  Song,  591 

Bells,  The,  260 

Birds  of  Killingworth,  The,  380 

Boys,  The,  482 

Bunker  Hill  Address,  The  (Extracts), 

276 

By  the  Bivouac's  Fitful  Flame,  574 
By  the  Pacific  Ocean,  619 

Camping  Out,  603 

Capture  of  Pocahontas,  The,  5 

Chambered  Nautilus,  The,  488 

Chartless,  622 

Chief  Events  during  the  years  1749  to 

I753»  "5! 
Chief  Justice  in  Search  of  a  Wife,  A, 

69 
Christmas  Day  in  Boston,  67 


633 


Christmas  Pastimes  (1622),  14 

Coliseum,  The,  267 

Colonial  Wedding,  A,  68 

Columbia,  146 

Columbus,  619 

Columbus  addresses  King  Ferdinand, 

«3S 

Columbus  in  Chains,  136 
Come  up  from  the  Fields,  Father,  577 
Compact  of  the  Pilgrims,  The,  n 
Concord  Hymn,  The,  316 
Conqueror  Worm,  The,  268 
Conquest  of  Mexico,  The   (Extracts), 

294 
Contrast,    The,    A    Comedy    in    Five 

Acts,  159 

Converting  a  Tory,  141 
Conviviality  in  the  Colonies,  81 
Courtin',  The,  525 
Crossing  the  Plains,  618 

Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul,  579 

Day  of  Doom,  The,  47 

Days  Gone  By,  The,  629 

Days  of  my  Youth,  1 52 

Deacon's    Masterpiece,    The,    or    the 

Wonderful  "  One-Hoss  Shay,"  484 
Death  of  the  Flowers,  The,  243 
Death  of  Lincoln,  The,  248 
Death's  Epitaph,  137 
Defence  of  Persecution,  A,  25 
Dentistry  in  Primitive  Days,  81 
Discipline  at  Harvard,  66 
Dutiful  Child's  Promises,  The,  90 

Each  and  All,  320 

Early   Trials    of   the    Pilgrim    Fathers 

(1620),  12 

Election  in  the  Colonial  Times,  An,  18 
Enchanter,  The,  324 
Endymion,  376 
Eternal  Goodness,  The,  449 
Evangeline,  394 
Exploring  Cape  Cod,  15 
Extracts  from  Edwards's  Diary,  83 


634        READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


Fable,  323 

Family  Discipline,  68 

Famine,  The,  430 

Farewell  Sermon,  A  (Extracts),  Jona 
than  Edwards,  85 

Farewell  of  a  Virginia  Slave  Mother, 
The,  436 

Fay's  Sentence,  The,  177 

First  Snow-Fail,  The,  519 

Fool's  Prayer,  The,  617 

Footsteps  of  Angels,  368 

Foppery  of  Titles,  The,  132 

For  the  Restoration  of  my  Dear  Hus 
band  from  a  Burning  Ague,  June, 
1661,  38 

Forbearance,  323 

Franklin's  Early  Interest  in  Books,  100 

Gettysburg  Speech,  The,  291 
Good-bye,  319 
Good  Children  Must,  91 
Governor  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  186 
Gray  Champion,  The,  352 
Grizzly,  60 1 

Hasty  Pudding,  The,  147 

Haunted  Palace,  The,  259 

Her  Experiences  in    Captivity,   Mary 

Rowlandson,  56 
Hiawatha's  Childhood,  423 
Humble-bee,  The,  317 
Humming-bird,  The,  621 
Hush'd  be  the  Camps  To-day,  576 
Hymn  to  the  Night,  370 

Ichabod,  438 

I  Hear  America  Singing,  573 

If  I  Can  Stop  One  Heart  from  Break 
ing,  624 

In  the  Firelight,  626 

In  the  Garden,  622 

In  Praise  of  Anne  Bradstreet,  33 

In  School-days,  447 

Inaugural  Address,  as  President  of  the 
United  States,  March  4,  1801  (Ex 
tracts),  Thomas  Jefferson,  125 

Indian  Bury  ing-ground,  The,  138 

Indian  Courtesies,  17 

Indians  in  New  England,  44 

Infant's  Grace  before  and  after  Meat, 
The,  91 

Inhabitants  of  Virginia,  74 

Interior  of  the  Alhambra,  219 

Israfel,  265 

Items  from  Winthrop's  History  cover 
ing  Period  from  1631-1648,  19 


Jesuits  in  North  America  in  the  Seven 
teenth  Century,  The,  312 

King  Robert  of  Sicily,  388, 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  The,  16 

Last  Leaf,  The,  481 

Last  of  the  Mohicans,  The,  225 

Laus  Deo !  452 

Learn  These  Four  Lines  by  Heart,  91 

Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  The,  190 

Letter  to  his  Wife  upon  being  made 

Commander-in-Chief    of   the    Army, 

George  Washington,  124 
Letters  of  John  Winthrop  and  his  Third 

Wife,  Margaret,  23 
Liberty  Tree,  134 
Light  of  Stars,  The,  367 
Little  Boy  Blue,  626 
Little  While  I  Fain  Would  Linger  Yet, 

A,  599 

Longing,  521 
Love-Letter  to  her  Husband,  A,  Anne 

Bradstreet,  36 
Lovewell's  Fight :  A  Popular  Ballad,  53 

Maidenhood,  377 
Marco  Bozzaris,  183 
Marshes  of  Glynn,  The,  586 
Masque  of  the  Red  Death,  The,  269 
May  Sun  Sheds  an  Amber  Light,  The, 

2S3 

Mourt's  Relation,  15 
My  Love,  515 
My  Playmate,  456 
My  Triumph,  454 

Noiseless,  Patient  Spider,  A,  576 
North  Carolina  Farming,  79 
Notes  on  the  Witchcraft  Trials,  67 

O  Captain  !  My  Captain  !   574 

O  Fairest  of  the  Rural  Maids,  244 

Ode  to  my  Ingenious  Friend,  Mr. 
Thomas  Godfrey,  114 

Ode  recited  at  the  Harvard  Commemo 
ration,  July  21,  1865,  539 

Of  the  First  Preparation  of  the  Mer 
chant  Adventurers  in  the  Massachu 
setts,  39 

Of  the  First  Promotion  of  Learning  in 
New  England,  and  the  Extraordinary 
Providences  that  the  Lord  was  pleased 
to  send  for  furthering  the  same,  40 

Of  the  Four  Ages  of  Man,  35 

Old  Ironsides,  480 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


635 


On  American  Independence  (Extract), 

118 
On  the  Death  of  Joseph  Rodman  Drake, 

182 

On  the  Expediency  of  Adopting  the 
Federal  Constitution  (Extracts),  129 

On  the  Separation  of  Britain  and  Amer 
ica,  130 

On  the  Writs  of  Assistance  (Extract), 
119 

Origin  of  Witchcraft  in  New  England, 


The,  59 
Out  of  the 


Morning,  621 


Pan  in  Wall  Street,  614 

Pastimes  in  Virginia,  76 

Pictures  of  Columbus,  The,  135 

Pilgrims  leave  Leyden,  The  (1620),  8 

Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree,  The,  251 

Pocahontas  Story,  The,  3 

Poem  on  the  Reverend  Thomas  Hooker, 

27 

Proem  to  the  First  Edition  of  his  Col 
lected  Works,/^^  GreenleafWhittier, 

435 

Prologue,  The,  33 
Prologue.    The  Contrast,  160 
Psalm  of  Life,  A,  366 

Raggedy  Man,  The,  628 
Rainy  Day,  The,  376 
Raven,  The,  254 
Reflections  on  Slavery,  68 
Resolutions  formed  in  Early  Life  (Ex 
tracts),  83 
Rhodora,  The,  316 
Rill  from  the  Town-Pump,  A,  360 
Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic,  The,  301 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  248 
Robin,  The,  622 
Runaway  Slaves  in  Hiding,  80 

Sarah  Pierrepont,  afterward  his  Wife, 

84 

Scandal  among  the  Converts,  44 
Second  Quest,  The,  179 
Seeking  his  Fortune,  104 
Self-reliance,  328 
Serenade  from  "The  Spanish  Student," 

379 

Servants  and  Slaves  in  Virginia,  78 
She  Came  and  Went,  517 
Sight  in  Camp  in  the  Day-break  Grey 

and  Dim,  A,  575 
Skeleton  in  Armor,  The,  371 


Skipper  Ireson's  Ride,  439 

Sleep,  380 

Snow-bound,  458 

Snow-storm,  The,  321 

Solitude,  507 

Some  of   the  Evidence   given  at  the 

Witch  Trials,  61 
Song  of  the  Camp,  The,  592 
Song  of  the  Chattahoochee,  584 
Song  of  Marion's  Men,  245 
Sonnet,  522 
Speech  in  Congress  on  his  being  made 

Commander-in-Chief,  June  16,  1775, 

George  Washington,  123 
Speech  in  the  Convention  of  Delegates, 

March   28,   1775    (Extracts),   Patrick 

Henry,  120 
Spring,  595 

Storm  in  the  Distance,  A,  600 
Sun-Day  Hymn,  A,  489 

Telling  the  Bees,  445 

Thanatopsis,  239 

To  the  Dandelion,  517 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian,  242 

To  Helen,  264 

To  a  Honey  Bee,  140 

To  the  Man-of- War-Bird,  577 

To  May,  112 

To  One  in  Paradise,  264 

To  a  Waterfowl,  241 

Tribute  to  France,  A,  128 

Verses,  90 

Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  The,  528 
Voiceless,  The,  490 
Voluntaries,  327 

Way  to  Wealth,  The,  93 

What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks,  523 

When  Lilacs   Last  in  the  Door- Yard 

Bloom'd,  580 

When  She  Comes  Home,  627 
When   the    Sultan   Goes    to   Ispahan, 

602 

Wieland's  Defence,  167 
Wild  Honeysuckle,  The,  139 
Wish,  The,  no 
Women's  Fashions,  28 
Woodnotes  (Selections),  324 
Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod,  624 

Yellow  Violet,  The,  247 
Youthful   Exuberance   on   the  "  May 
flower,"  15 


ANNOUNCEMENTS 


NOTABLE  HISTORIES  OF 
LITERATURE 

By  WILLIAM  J.  LONG,  PH.D. 

ENGLISH   LITERATURE    582  pages,  illustrated 

A  BOOK  whose  aims  are  threefold  :  to  create  or  to  encourage  in  every 
student  the  desire  to  read  the  best  books,  to  interpret  literature,  —  its 
reflection  not  only  of  the  author's  life  and  thought  but  also  of  the  spirit 
of  his  age,  —  and  to  show  the  development  of  our  literature.  The  book 
affords  simple,  interesting  accounts  of  every  period,  a  brief  biography 
of  every  significant  literary  man,  and  a  critical  study  of  his  most  repre 
sentative  works.  Summaries  of  each  period,  selections  for  reading,  bib 
liographies,  chronological  tables,  and  suggestive  questions  are  among 
the  valuable  features  which  have  won  for  the  book  a  lasting  popularity 
in  English-literature  classes. 

AMERICAN   LITERATURE    481  pages,  illustrated 

"American  Literature"  has  for  its  aims  those  which  distinguish  its 
companion  volume,  "  English  Literature."  The  same  excellent  quali 
ties  are  conspicuous  in  attaining  those  aims  —  clear  and  sympathetic 
style,  sound  scholarship,  and  well-proportioned  treatment.  It  is  unmis 
takably  a  national  work,  recognizing  no  political  or  geographic  limita 
tions  to  the  national  spirit.  It  divides  our  literary  history  into  four 
periods  and  provides  material  from  which  the  student  may  gain  a  well- 
rounded  understanding  of  each.  The  number  and  beauty  of  the  illus 
trations  form  a  most  notable  feature. 

OUTLINES  OF   ENGLISH  AND   AMERICAN   LITERA 

TURE     557  pages,  illustrated 

THIS  book  offers  a  complete  short  course  in  literary  history  for 
schools  and  colleges.  It  is  a  wholly  new  book,  not  a  condensation  of 
the  two  preceding  volumes.  In  presentation,  method  of  approach, 
and  material  the  book  is  entirely  fresh,  new,  and  remarkable  for  its 
life  and  color.  The  same  distinctive  style,  scholarly  judgment,  and 
literary  insight  that  mark  every  effort  of  Dr.  Long  are  shown  here 
in  generous  measure. 

This  work  is  also  available  in  two  volumes,  "  Outlines  of  English 
Literature,"  and  "Outlines  of  American  Literature." 


GINN  AND   COMPANY  PUBLISHERS 


SUPPLEMENTARY  READING   IN 
ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


BRYAN  AND  CRANE:  THE  ENGLISH  FAMILIAR  ESSAY.  79  essays 
by  13  English  essayists. 

CALHOUN  AND  MAcALARNEY :  READINGS  FROM  AMERICAN 
LITERATURE.  The  Colonial  Period  to  James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

COOK:  LITERARY  MIDDLE  ENGLISH  READER.  Specimens  of  Eng 
lish  literature  between  1150  and  1500,  edited  especially  for  general  students 
of  English  literature. 

DAVIS  AND  GETCHELL:  STORIES  OF  THE  DAY'S  WORK.  An  in 
spirational  collection  of  modern  reading  for  high-school  English. 

FIELD:  READINGS  FROM  ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  LITERA 
TURE.  From  Chaucer  to  the  World  War. 

FULTON:  SOUTHERN  LIFE  IN  SOUTHERN  LITERATURE.  Gener 
ous  selections  from  Southern  poems,  essays,  and  fiction. 

GARNET:  ENGLISH  PROSE  FROM  ELIZABETH  TO  VICTORIA. 
Selections  from  33  authors. 

GAYLEY  AND  FLAHERTY :  POETRY  OF  THE  PEOPLE.  (Enlarged 
Edition.)  Old  and  modern  ballads  and  patriotic  songs. 

HOPKINS  AND  HUGHES:  THE  ENGLISH  NOVEL  BEFORE  THE 
NINETEENTH  CENTURY.  Comprehensive  selections  from  18  novels 
from  Malory  to  Jane  Austen. 

MANLY:  ENGLISH  POETRY  (1170-1892).  Some  50,000  lines  of  represent 
ative  poetry. 

MANLY:  ENGLISH  PROSE  (1137-1890).  About  100  selections,  usually 
whole  pieces. 

MANLY:  ENGLISH  PROSE  AND  POETRY.  A  careful  condensation  of 
the  material  in  the  two  preceding  volumes,  with  fuller  notes. 

PARROTT  AND  LONG:  ENGLISH  POEMS  FROM  CHAUCER  TO 
KIPLING.  Selections  from  51  poets. 

SHACKFORD  :  LEGENDS  AND  SATIRES  FROM  MEDIAEVAL  LIT 
ERATURE.  Selections  from  the  minor  literature  of  the  period  for  students 
of  Chaucer. 

SPEARE  AND  NORRIS :  VITAL  FORCES  IN  CURRENT  EVENTS. 
A  series  of  articles  by  recognized  authorities,  chosen  for  their  timely  in 
terest,  able  analysis,  and  literary  value. 

THAYER :  THE  BEST  ELIZABETHAN  PLAYS.  Five  plays  by  dramatists 
other  than  Shakespeare. 


38 

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